With the poster firmly clasped by his side, Orson reached the beach. It was still dark, but she was not in sight. He combed the beach, trying to get a glimpse of her, and later[…]
Thankful for the sun that now shone above his head, he made way for his home. He knew what to do. He stepped inside and found the poster still hanging there, quite innocently, appearing once[…]
Orson didn’t quite know what made his tormentor leave his side. When he woke up, he was aching and bleeding all over. His eyes were shut, and he held his body like a fetus in[…]
Three months later, he still pined for her. He missed her presence in the house, he missed the careless romps on the bed, he missed her fragrance that permeated through the room.
Orson returned to his studio apartment. He could not see her immediately. He meant to go up to her, confront her, and ask her to leave. He cared for Lonnie, and he didn’t want to[…]
They walked, hand in hand, like two lovers. It was uncharacteristically early for him, the sun had not yet reached its zenith in the sky. He had scarcely seen the environment at this time in[…]
Orson was a man who kept late nights. It wasn’t good for his profession as a photographer—since some of the best works are captured in the light of the day—but he just couldn’t attune himself[…]