“Distorted Reflection.”

The below story is short fiction. It is my submission for this week’s Friday Fictioneers 100 word story from the photo prompt provided. It has been a fun writing exercise each week and has helped me improve in areas where needed. As I have said before, the art and craft of writing is an ongoing work in progress and I keep at it, good or bad.  For writers and readers of my blog site, I want to say and emphasize that my fiction stories (long or short) are only fiction, and are not ‘Reflections’, true stories or illustrations, or related to experiences in my life, or anyone else’s life whom I may know. They are never intended to poke fun at someone, or criticize one who may be in a similar situation and is merely a coincidence if my characters or stories find a sensitive nerve in one who reads them. I sometimes create characters for my stories completely different from myself or anyone else, but give them real life situations, or scenarios in their lives where they might experience these things, and will be faced with decisions or choices that could affect their lives, and will wonder just how they might deal or cope with these experiences as they happen. It is interesting that sometimes a story I have written or a non-fiction post I have put up will somehow bring a variety of readers to the site with differing views and opinions. I value the input from all. I sometimes will use the male gender in my stories and in a first person POV (Point of View), or in third person. Feedback and comments on my fiction or even my non-fiction posts are always welcomed as I learn from them and work at improving my writing skills. Thank you fellow writers, bloggers and Friday Fictioneers’ contributors for all the great comments, feedback you have offered and compliments. I appreciate all.      

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Distorted reflection? Over exposure? Whatever it was. The image was me.

They sent me to school, paid my way.

They warned me once, “Son, work hard. Stay focused. The world lies just beyond your telephoto lens.”

I didn’t listen, didn’t care, made new friends, had a good time. I drank too much, studied too little, hung with kids who knew how to party. I just went along.

My captured images, sights and shots of places visited, famous and found should have filled the pages of National Geographic. I was their protégé.

But, no more.

I lay here drunk, homeless, unemployed.

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Posted August 22, 2012 by Joyce in Fiction, Friday Fictioneers, Short Fiction, Writing

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