“This next one I call ‘Frozen Skyline’,” said Paul gesturing to the framed photograph.
Trevor regarded the image with a keen eye. It showed the back of a person sitting on a snow covered bench looking out at the tall skyscrapers of Manhattan.
“This seems a bit… mundane for you, Paul,” said Trevor. “I mean, considering…”
Trevor gestured around the gallery at the dozens of macabre pictures that adorned the walls: Close-ups of bloodshot eyeballs, a hearse with a long funeral procession following it, chipped gravestones covered in vines. The painting before the two men seemed out of place.
Paul laughed. “It would seem that way, wouldn’t it? But I came across that man, a bum, sitting on the bench, frozen to death. I have no idea how long he’d been there, but people just walked past him without ever noticing he was a corpsesickle. So I took the shot.”
Knowing he was staring at a dead man forever captured in time sickened Trevor. He savored that feeling.
“And you want how much?” asked Trevor
“Sold,” said Trevor.
[This is my entry this week into the Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers challenge, hosted by Priceless Joy. A photo prompt is given and writers are encouraged to create a short story of 100 – 150 words, + or – 25 words.]