By Penelope Anne Bartotto (Stoic~Camera~Cornerstone)
Robert adjusted his position, he had been leaning on the wall of the Opera House for the past hour, and the cold had literally seeped to his bones. The editor of the newspaper had sent him off on another silly job, to take another memorable photograph of history in action. Today the city was celebrating the grand reopening of, the Grand Opera House, no less. They were unveiling a new cornerstone laid atop the original. The original had a fine patina from over a century worth of weathering, and yet the date 1883 stood out boldly. A testament to strength and perseverance against the ravages of fickle interests, opinions, funding, politics, and time the building endured. The new stone was quarried from the same quarry as the original, carved to replicate it as much as feasibly possible, the year 2010 chiseled into it meticulously by an artisan's skilled hands. The ceremony was short, but well planned and Robert got a number of exquisite photos that his editor would shuffle through and select from, wasting all but one, which would be published. The joy of being chained to the paper, he had no control over which photograph he took got used. Thankfully he kept the rights to all of his photos not used, which is actually where his money came from, the money that allowed him to run a little rampant or fancy free.
Earlier that day during the ceremony Robert noticed something odd down the street, being on one too many investigative report trips with reporters, he had this sense that tuned into the things that were not right. His peculiar sense had netted some award winning photos and prize winning articles that had spread to the Associated Press. Alongside the Opera House there was a quaint cobblestone street that was uncovered during a street repair in the eighties, and there were basement shops that were uncovered and now waiting to be put into use after all these decades. Robert knew though that none had yet to become a business, but he watched a crew of men carrying an assortment of items into it during the ceremony. The radar in his mind screamed red alert. Thus, he now was sitting with a stoic look upon his countenance in the cold November air waiting to see what this motley crew was up to.
He looked down at his watch, he had thirty minutes before the coffee house on the corner closed for the night, and he knew without more java his chances of catching anything other than a cold were nill. Stretching his limbs, he looked around before leaving his spot in an old stage doorway, he didn't need his cover blown. He walked quickly around the park that had been created to beautify downtown, and chuckled as he passed by the eyesore that had destroyed that idea. In a stroke of stupidity the city had commissioned the ugliest sundial in the world and added it to the once beautiful park. The sundial attracted plenty of attention though, most residents hated it, and the youth of the city found it a great place to congregate. Now the once pretty park that families had loved, was a gang hang out at night.
The bell above the door jingled as Robert walked into the coffee house, and the clerk behind the counter looked up from her textbook.
"Hey, what can I get you?" she said sweetly. The coffee house was a huge student hang out for the state college, and a nice place to have a job he thought. Students and caffeine were a given combination, especially during test time.
"A grande espresso, triple shot, soy milk, with a dash of butter toffee, please," he said without checking the menu, "Also let me have that last cherry danish, thanks."
"Kind of late for taking pictures ain't it?" she asked him with a nod at his camera as she made the espresso. He shifted his camera, and looked down at his trusty comrade in arms. He'd discovered the love of photography as a young boy when he discovered an old camera in his grandfather's basement. His first camera was a gift from his grandmother, and he followed his passion throughout school and into college. His grandmother had been very proud of him, and kept a marvelous scrapbook of his photos through the years, he missed her very much, but knew without her influence he would have never picked up a camera and become the man he was.
"Stars, moon, midnight skies," he stated calmly, "All make for a great photograph, if you have the patience to wait for the perfect shot." He paid for his coffee and danish, adding a liberal tip for her, and headed out the front door quickly so she could close up shop.
He stepped from the door, and the cold air hit him like a slap in the face, he looked up as he adjusted his scarf and it was then that he saw it. The coffee splashed across the sidewalk, into the street and dripped into the gutter. The danish became squirrel feed as it dropped to the ground and rolled from the paper bag that had held it. Robert dropped to his knees in shock, but only for a moment, he soon grabbed his camera and snapped photo after photo. He even looked towards the opera house and saw the lights in the window of that cellar shop, clicking off a few shots in that direction.
The next morning the newspaper left everyone in the region with jaws dropped in shock, there on the front page was Robert's photo.
Pierced upon that hideous sundial was a body, and the shot chosen by his editor was perfect for the words Robert demanded for the caption... "Murder by Moonlight".
Robert adjusted his position, he had been leaning on the wall of the Opera House for the past hour, and the cold had literally seeped to his bones. The editor of the newspaper had sent him off on another silly job, to take another memorable photograph of history in action. Today the city was celebrating the grand reopening of, the Grand Opera House, no less. They were unveiling a new cornerstone laid atop the original. The original had a fine patina from over a century worth of weathering, and yet the date 1883 stood out boldly. A testament to strength and perseverance against the ravages of fickle interests, opinions, funding, politics, and time the building endured. The new stone was quarried from the same quarry as the original, carved to replicate it as much as feasibly possible, the year 2010 chiseled into it meticulously by an artisan's skilled hands. The ceremony was short, but well planned and Robert got a number of exquisite photos that his editor would shuffle through and select from, wasting all but one, which would be published. The joy of being chained to the paper, he had no control over which photograph he took got used. Thankfully he kept the rights to all of his photos not used, which is actually where his money came from, the money that allowed him to run a little rampant or fancy free.
Earlier that day during the ceremony Robert noticed something odd down the street, being on one too many investigative report trips with reporters, he had this sense that tuned into the things that were not right. His peculiar sense had netted some award winning photos and prize winning articles that had spread to the Associated Press. Alongside the Opera House there was a quaint cobblestone street that was uncovered during a street repair in the eighties, and there were basement shops that were uncovered and now waiting to be put into use after all these decades. Robert knew though that none had yet to become a business, but he watched a crew of men carrying an assortment of items into it during the ceremony. The radar in his mind screamed red alert. Thus, he now was sitting with a stoic look upon his countenance in the cold November air waiting to see what this motley crew was up to.
He looked down at his watch, he had thirty minutes before the coffee house on the corner closed for the night, and he knew without more java his chances of catching anything other than a cold were nill. Stretching his limbs, he looked around before leaving his spot in an old stage doorway, he didn't need his cover blown. He walked quickly around the park that had been created to beautify downtown, and chuckled as he passed by the eyesore that had destroyed that idea. In a stroke of stupidity the city had commissioned the ugliest sundial in the world and added it to the once beautiful park. The sundial attracted plenty of attention though, most residents hated it, and the youth of the city found it a great place to congregate. Now the once pretty park that families had loved, was a gang hang out at night.
The bell above the door jingled as Robert walked into the coffee house, and the clerk behind the counter looked up from her textbook.
"Hey, what can I get you?" she said sweetly. The coffee house was a huge student hang out for the state college, and a nice place to have a job he thought. Students and caffeine were a given combination, especially during test time.
"A grande espresso, triple shot, soy milk, with a dash of butter toffee, please," he said without checking the menu, "Also let me have that last cherry danish, thanks."
"Kind of late for taking pictures ain't it?" she asked him with a nod at his camera as she made the espresso. He shifted his camera, and looked down at his trusty comrade in arms. He'd discovered the love of photography as a young boy when he discovered an old camera in his grandfather's basement. His first camera was a gift from his grandmother, and he followed his passion throughout school and into college. His grandmother had been very proud of him, and kept a marvelous scrapbook of his photos through the years, he missed her very much, but knew without her influence he would have never picked up a camera and become the man he was.
"Stars, moon, midnight skies," he stated calmly, "All make for a great photograph, if you have the patience to wait for the perfect shot." He paid for his coffee and danish, adding a liberal tip for her, and headed out the front door quickly so she could close up shop.
He stepped from the door, and the cold air hit him like a slap in the face, he looked up as he adjusted his scarf and it was then that he saw it. The coffee splashed across the sidewalk, into the street and dripped into the gutter. The danish became squirrel feed as it dropped to the ground and rolled from the paper bag that had held it. Robert dropped to his knees in shock, but only for a moment, he soon grabbed his camera and snapped photo after photo. He even looked towards the opera house and saw the lights in the window of that cellar shop, clicking off a few shots in that direction.
The next morning the newspaper left everyone in the region with jaws dropped in shock, there on the front page was Robert's photo.
Pierced upon that hideous sundial was a body, and the shot chosen by his editor was perfect for the words Robert demanded for the caption... "Murder by Moonlight".