Five Pictures

[Inculta_Dream]

I wrote this in grade 12 (which was actually only a few months ago), I had to include 4 things in my story that I picked randomly from a hat (it could only be 500 words):
-A photographer
-The porch of an old farmhouse
-After a fight
-A secret needs to be confessed to someone else

Looking at the viewfinder longer now, Brett’s mind fell into a daze. Lowering the camera to his side he stared to the porch of the old farmhouse. He was miles from any town and only a few meters away from the house. As he approached the porch steps he paused for a moment. The woman lay on the wooden deck, blood obscuring her face. It was on camera, right in his viewfinder. While taking photographs of the surrounding landscape he had inadvertently captured her murder. He peered into the house through the screen. Wasn’t he going to come back and clean up the mess? Brett thought anxiously. Still unsure of his next move he nervously stepped up to the door past the blood on the porch.

Biting his lip he stared into the house from beside the door. Evidentially there was a fight; in fact it was too obvious. There was shattered glass and wood splinters scattered around the floor, holes in the wall and the hinges on the screen door were loosened and broken. He took a snapshot of the woman’s body, the crowbar rested beside it. Her husband had escaped the scene right after he confronted her on the porch.

Brett had finally gotten himself into a situation he had no control over. Getting involved with a stranger’s life can be dangerous. It was only a matter of time before the husband returned. However he couldn’t leave now, not after all of this. Everything would come out right. He took a deep breath. Realizing now how safe he was, how good he was. Stepping inside the house he was less afraid now as he analysed the hall in front of him. Memories of only a half hour ago played in his mind.

The husband and wife were arguing, she stormed out of the house. Her husband came out of the door pointing the crowbar at her and yelling.
Brett took a picture.
The man hit the woman. Twice now.
He took a picture. And another.
The woman lay by the porch swing as the man went back inside. A minute later his car drove across the dirt path and down the highway.
He took a picture.
Brett walked around to the back and through the house. He found the crowbar. He saw the woman walking down the hall. Objects broke. The crowbar whipped around, the table and the door were broken. There was blood on the porch.
He took a picture

Brett once again looked through the camera’s photos. The man and wife had argued, he had no control, killed her and fled in fear. And it was all on this camera. A camera doesn’t lie, but people do. A phone call to the police had already been made. The man would go to jail; Brett would have a story for the paper. I killed your wife, he thought. That’s the message he would leave the man after the trial. I’m the one without control.