A character finds an old roll of film, and takes it to be developed. What do they find?
Posted in Middle School on Oct 25, 2022
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✍️ 46 stories
“Unseen” by Rebekah Jordan
The canister had always been there, rolling around at the bottom of his duffle bag. Whenever he packed, his fingers would graze over the smooth, gray top, but he’d never take it out, never look directly at it. Sometimes when he unpacked, the canister would get wound up in a dirty sock or wedged inside a pocket, and it would come up with a handful of laundry as he went to chuck it into the machine. Whenever this happened,...
“The Talk of the Town” by Kathleen Fine
“Mom, there are some packages at the door!” Geneva hollered to her mother from the bottom of the stairs. “Be right there!” Holly shouted back as she clipped in her pearl earrings and double checked her crimson lipstick. She slipped into her floor length, satin gown and squeezed her feet into her uncomfortable patent leather pumps. She wasn’t Audrey Hepburn, but thought she looked good enough for the an...
“The Disappearance of Elizabeth Conway” by A. Y. R
Elizabeth Conway - reported missing on the 18th of November 1986. 5ft 5, slender build, brown hair and green eyes. Last seen leaving school premises on the 13th of November at roughly 16:00 wearing her school uniform (white shirt, navy blazer, tie, and tights), a double-breasted, brown overcoat with white buttons, and a black woolly hat. First missing person’s report of the victim. No previous criminal record, no records of mental illnesses, no reports of family conflict, no re...
“Kodachrome” by Kendall Defoe
It began with my son. “Dad, what’s this?” We were clearing out the attic after his grandmother died. She was the last grandparent he had and Steven wanted to help me put everything in order and clean up all that we had to settle. I still remember the thick dust in that heat, all of the cobwebs, and the sunlight that was unmerciful through the windows. It streamed in and I felt the sweat and dust trickling d...
“Key to the Past” by Amanda Blackwood
He picked through the rubble of what had been his childhood home, looking for anything that might be kept as a souvenir. Bryon meticulously opened drawer after drawer in the kitchen before moving on to the cupboards and then searching under piles of old papers and leaves that had been left to blow arbitrarily through the broken home, lifted by even the gentlest of breezes as it wafted through from the missing front door to the broken patio glass. He hadn’t been back there since that night.Memories would occasionally surf...
“Torn” by Murray Burns
TornThere are things in life better left unseen, unheard, unknown. Truth is not always the best path.“Mommy, why do I have red hair?”“That’s just the way it is, Cal.”“Ricky and Jenny have brown hair. You have brown hair. Daddy has brown hair. Why do I have red hair?”“God picks the color, honey. You’re lucky. You have beautiful red hair.”Such explanations suffice for the very you...
“My Mystery to Solve” by Sarah Martyn
(Contains elements of a sensitive nature, including grief, the supernatural, and implied violence) When you’re strapped for cash, and you’re already busy with school and working in your spare time, you find more work. For me, that was cleaning out basements for the neighbors. One particular day, though, I discovered a calling (albeit, short lived) much deeper than earning some extr...
“Photographic Memories” by John K Adams
So much stuff. Did Leo have nothing better to do than collect stuff? ‘What was he trying to tell me?’ “Gabe?” Sophie called down the stair well. “Down here, babe.” She descended a few steps and peeked into the basement. Gabe stood amidst the labyrinth of newspapers and boxes his father had left behind. “Wow…!” “Leo wasn’t a hoarder, but you can see it from here...
“Abandoned Photos” by Twyla Parker
(Trigger warning - includes detailed information of abused woman)[I would love any feedback and constructive criticism, thank you]The wind is blowing fiercely, the clouds are coming in as I am walking home from Franklin high school. I didn’t bring a jacket, just great. I decided to take photography for an elective class, it’s always been a passion of mine. I wanted to make my senior year as easy as possible. The teacher's name is Mrs. Nox and she wanted us to do an assignment on something abandoned, a place that t...
“THE FACE IN THE DARK ROOM” by Mara Masolini
THE FACE IN THE DARK ROOM Mark Ross, a bank clerk , liked very much taking pictures. He was a real enthusiast of the shot. Indeed it can be said that he couldn’t help but photograph. At home he had a well- equipped laboratory for developing the photos he took during his travels , during the holidays ( vacations), but even those he took on the street of his city...
“Star of the Stage and Silver Screen” by George Georgerfrost@gmail.com
It rolled out from under a steamer covered in dust and other detritus found in the attic. My father Vernon Hattford had passed away a week ago in hospice, leaving me as executor of his estate. He had lived in this house since getting his Veteran Administration loan to buy it after the war in 1946. I grew up, learned to drive, got my first kiss and a whole bunch of other memories in this neighborhood before ...
“110 Penitent Ghosts” by Jon Blackstock
Stepping onto his mother’s covered porch, I stiff-armed the purgatorial ghosts of pointless memories. Vague reflections looked up from a murky pond of rippling time, and even the ghosts that resembled me laughed with blame. Especially the ones that looked like me. Those familiars mocked attentively, the rest in spurts and fits.They came up from the ground like watery smoke and wafted through the rails. Sitting, standing, running, lying—they fought, they laughed, they hoped. They also huffed, sniffed, and puffed—rolling t...
“Grandma's Secret” by Ginger Scharpe
I thought I was ready for this, but now as I open the door to my grandmother’s attic, tears stream down my face. It has been two weeks since we laid her sweet body in the ground. I can still feel her here in the house. I told my mom I would help, but now I regret that. We have been staying at a hotel down the street because neither of us wanted to open the door and not see grandma standing in the kitchen. When we finally...
“Lessons in Forgiveness” by Madelyn Grace
For Evelyn Brass, home is the smell of antiseptic, cold, stale air, and stiff clothes. Home is a sickly white bed with a paper-thin mattress, and a television on which she can never quite focus. Pale blue curtains spotted with bleach in the corners. An entourage of bent cards propped up against smudged glass vases, holding flowers that are just staring to peek on the wrong side of rotten. Evelyn Brass considers ...
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