Story #1

Ok folks, here it is! The plot of our first story! Have fun!


Location: New York

Time: the present

Jerome is a photographer, originally from Paris, that has now been living in New York for 7 years. He first came to New York on a photo assignment.

The assignment was for 4 weeks. During this time, he became so fascinated with the city and its people, that he decided to stay for a while. Weeks turned into months, and months turned into years. He chose to stay in New York. Although he earned less money doing smaller jobs, it was enough to keep him afloat.

He shared a small, two-room apartment with his roommate, Michael. Michael is a 36 year-old police officer - a year younger than Jerome. He was born in New York and knew everything about this metropolis. Especially the neighborhood they are living in, because he grew up there.

Sometimes, Michael would alert Jerome of accident or crime scenes, so he could be the first photographer there. This would give Jerome exclusive rights to sell his photographs to local and online news agencies, firsthand.

But on this July evening, it would be Jerome who calls his roommate first. He discovered something on his nightly walk for photographic opportunities that would change his life forever in this city.

(c) Jennie

Exterior windows perspired and a thin sheen covered the cobble stones of Beard Street. "...temperatures soared today to a record-breaking high of 106 degrees. Forecast for tonight, sticky and humid, with a low of 87. Tomorrow..." No one had to tell Jerome it was going to be another hot and miserable night as he searched radio stations on his iPhone. His tilley had salt stains from his sweat and his buttoned shirt clung to him like second skin.

It was 11:03 P.M. when he decided to leave the apartment. The place was like a fucking oven, literally. The apartment he shared with Michael sat above the corner Chinese restaurant. They close at 2 A.M. The twin window fans didn't do justice at all. All efforts to cool, or be cooled were futile. So, he thought that maybe, if he was lucky, he would be able to catch a breeze walking by the waterfront. He grabbed his hat, keys, Marlboros, and oh, let's not forget the camera. (by Jennie)

As he walked down the stairs he could hear people talking,It was coming from the Chinese restaurant,muffled but still shouting all the same.Jerome opened the door and turned right walking past the restaurant.On and on he walked then for no real reason he stopped and looked down,there in the gutter was a wad of money. (by tom)

Jerome knelt and examined the bills. It wasn't American currency - in fact, it wasn't any currency he had ever seen. He lifted the sopping money from the puddle and studied the red paper with odd, cursive markings written in black ink. He pulled a lone bill from the wad and placed the rest beside his feet. He noted an anatomical heart cupped between two hands on the piece of paper. At each of the four corners were red eyes with a lone drop of blood falling. (by MindPrints)

With a quizzical look on his face, he looked up and down the street. Nothing. Empty. Desolate. He put the bills in his pocket making a mental note to give it to Michael. Perhaps someone has reported missing or stolen money.

(c) Jennie

He continued to walk and turned left into Van Brunt Street. His heart jumped when a black cat suddenly skittered in front of him, crossing the street, and disappearing under the abandoned car. "Damned cat almost gave me a heart attack!", he thought to himself. Nearby, there was a broken fire hydrant, spewing water. He cupped his hands and splashed his face. When he stood up, a slight breeze came in from the bay. His nostrils picked up the scent of the briny water... and of something else. What was it? He couldn't put his finger on it. He breathed in again trying to catch that waft again. (by Jennie)