Sugar Beach

Today's muse: This photograph, titled "At the Sugar Beach", by Summerfield.

(You can view her photography at her 365 Project Site.)







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Sugar Beach

“Get up.”

Charlie Fischer’s hiss was barely audible above the crash of waves, but Earl Ashton heard it well enough.

“I just need to get this shot.” Earl did not bother to hide the sigh in his voice. Less than an hour ago, the sand was pristine, smooth as glass and now…well, now it was a complete clusterfuck.

“Forget it. You won’t get a good shot now.” Charlie scrubbed a meaty hand over his face. At least the bride and groom had a few decent pictures.

Earl peered through the lens. “I have to try.” More than a hundred people had trampled over the beach front. How the hell was he supposed to get a good shot? “They shouldn’t have let a rookie look after this site.”

“Don’t I know it.” Charlie glanced over at the guests who were waiting just beyond camera range. “They don’t seem to be phased by it, though.”

Earl shrugged, snapped another picture before standing up. He brushed pale sand from his suit—a suit he had purchased only last week; his fourth suit in two months. “Weddings are boring. This…” he swung his arm in a wide arc, then peered through his camera. “They’ll be talking about this for years.” He focused on the white chairs. Click. The pink umbrellas. Click.

“We’ll need pictures of all the guests.”

“Yeah.” Earl sighed. “I hate that part. They never cooperate.”

Charlie glanced over at him. “Should they? I mean, it’s a happy occasion. They’re here to have fun. They don’t want to stand still while we snap pictures.” He leaned over a snow-white chair, squinted against the bright sun. “Hey, Earl, did you get a shot of this?”

Earl wandered over to stand next to his partner, leaned in to look at the red droplet on the wooden arm of an Adirondack.

“Shit.” He focused, snapped two pictures, stood up. “Why don’t you clear out the guests so we can remove the body.”