Photographic Microfiction: Four Captive Moments

The images are the inspirations, not the other way around.

By: Robert R. Burch and Alma L.L.M. Gemini

The Swine of Solitude

For as long as the townsfolk could remember, the council insisted the painted boar on the stump honored the late Mayor Higgins’s legendary mascot, who allegedly sniffed out "Cuban insurgents" hiding in the hills alongside Teddy Roosevelt’s Rough Riders in 1898. Patriotic societies sponsored annual rallies at its base to preach about the perils of foreign influence, pointing to the chipped snout as proof of heroic border vigilance. Local children were taught to hold their noses as they passed.

It was only when a stray lawnmower clipped the pedestal last Tuesday, exposing a faded 1930s Sears, Roebuck & Co. catalog number stamped along the underbelly, that the truth emerged: Higgins simply bought a cast-iron lawn ornament to adorn an unsightly stump.

The Track

The left rail baked in the unforgiving sun of the late-afternoon. The left lay cold, buried in the sharp division of the hilly canopy’s shadow. I kept my right boot on the warm steel and my left on the dark. That was a clumsy, straddling march toward the bend. It is an exhausting way to walk, worrying about the light you are missing or the dark you are enduring. It was a heavy, divided way to live, even for a mile. I stopped and looked ahead to where the curve swallowed the perspective. The steel welded together in the distance. The destination didn't care about the canopies or shadows or hot and cold rails. It was the same path either way.

The Essential Crew

Below deck, the lad’s curiosity was stronger than ever.  Forever at his side were a camera to freeze time, a telescope to close distances, and paintbrushes still damp from yesterday's rendition. In the boat’s hold burned a youthful, chaotic fire. He understood why he was on a voyage, but he had no idea how to rig the sail or chart the depth.

On deck, where the misty wind was cold and the bay’s currents were strong, the old man held the wheel. His back was stiff, his hands were calloused, and he knew exactly how to make the crossing. He realized the truth: Experience knows how to navigate the course, but it was the vibrance in the hold that could envision a new destination.

The Back Row

Every evening at five, Walt pulled on his wool cap and walked down to the bricked-up sanctuary. He knew the church had been deconsecrated in ’84, and he knew the congregation at the base of the wall was just charcoal and acrylic figurines fading against the mortar.

Still, he stood on the curb, adjusted his coat, and quietly slid into line beside Mrs. Gable in her yellow cardigan.

"Cold tonight," he murmured to the brick figurine.

The city was quiet, but in his mind, the church doors had swung wide, with warm light spilling onto the pavement, and a familiar voice was about to call his name.

The Next Cup: All four of these stories are set here in Maryland, Robert's new home. One story is about mentorship. The first reader who identifies the mentorship story will become the first recipient of the Burch - Gemini Flash Fiction Readership Award.  Click away and drop your choice in the comments box!

Afterword: The image in “The Essential Crew” was created by AI, while the other three are all Robert’s own photos which he further processed. These works of microfiction are all products of our human - AI collaboration.

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