The Picture

No moonlight shines on the parking lot at the park. The pavement is old and cracked, with potholes dotting the ground like swiss cheese. None of the street lights work, and trains trudge by so loudly that the thoughts of those in the parking lot are drowned out by loud clangs and thuds. An old, run-down recreation center sits on one end of the parking lot, while the other side faces the old park. There are legends of this park having mercury in the soil, though some people don't believe that this is so. The slides in the kid's section have large gaps and the wood chips are gathering mold.
A single car sits in the parking lot, her interior light shining dimly on her passengers. The car rocks from her passenger's actions within, bouncing up and down on her suspension like she's a trampoline. She's getting to old for this kind of activity, and she's seriously considering retiring at age forty-two. Suddenly, one of the passengers explodes out of the car and storms over to a nearby pay phone. They shove a coin into the pay phone's slot and dials someone else's phone number. The words are blurred, but the tone of the person's voice is exasperated to the point that they may burst in anger. The person holds an old, fading picture to their chest as they exchange curses with the person on the other end. As the conversation progresses, the person slams the picture onto the pay phone's cover. With a few final words, the person storms back to the car with smoke billowing out of their ears. The car zooms away, leaving a trail of water and smoke behind her. The passengers still yell at each other.
The picture now sits alone on the pay phone, waiting for someone to pick him up to take him away from the parking lot. He doesn't like the park because there are storm clouds brewing above and he doesn't want to get wet. He sits patiently, because he has to, and waits for someone to come pick him up before the the rain comes. Time passes and he stays there all alone. A few cars come and leave, but no one stops at the pay phone. Most of the cars are old and the passengers homely or angry. Through time, the picture sits patiently, still waiting. The colors start to fade away from weathering; the sides start to fray. It collects its own mold, though never as much as the wood chips. To this day, it still waits.

Source: http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/RolePlayGateway/~3/5L-pay1XYB8/viewtopic.php

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