We’re writing new original stories every week, and we’ll be posting them on Fridays. Here’s Robert’s response to this week’s prompts. Feel free to use the prompts to write your own story, and to share it in the comments if you like.
Character: Photographer
Object: False Teeth/Dentures
Genre/Tone: Slice of Life
Henry’s studio occupied most of the third story of a four-story granite office building in Tangletown. He arranged his tripod, lights, and backdrop on the unvarnished hardwood floor of the open workspace, ambling between camera and the side-table where he kept his collection of lenses, filters, and props, until at last he looked up and said, “Okay.”
His voice fell flat, since the studio, though open and high of ceiling, had its walls covered with all manner of cloth and foam and other sound-dampening objects. Usually, his model or subject would have been waiting in a small greenspace in a corner, but today he had no one to speak to, no model, no collaborator, no person to shoot.
He considered calling his agent one more time, but what would be the point? No one was available today: not students, not amateurs, not prostitutes, not even friends or relatives. Yet he had promised to post every day to his Instagram profile an original studio portrait that spoke to him. He pulled up the camera’s viewfinder, perused the empty backdrop. Could he honestly say that emptiness spoke to him? Could he post a confession of failure? Others had, but it would undermine his entire project. He would in all honesty just have to start over.
Henry shook his head and turned toward the washroom. It was the oldest part of the building, with curvacious porcelian fixtures, including an original claw-foot tub. From where he stood taking a piss, he could see the mirror over the sink, and in the mirror, the linen closet tucked in the corner. He’d never bothered to clean out that linen closet, so after he washed his hands, he opened it up just to see what kind of job it would be. At least it would distract him from his empty studio.
An old shaving kit occupied the top shelf, covered in an eighth-inch of dust. The second shelf was empty except for an abandoned cobweb. But on the third shelf was a tarnished round metal container. Henry picked it up and twisted it open. It let out a screech as if crying, “meeeeeee.”
A set of dentures, slightly yellowed but clean and preserved from the dust by the integrity of its case, sat inside the tin. Henry smirked and shook his head. On the nose? Maybe. Would his followers call him lazy? Some certainly would. But would it keep his project moving forward? Sure. He didn’t need it to say much, just to speak to him at all. He turned back toward the studio.