international group of photographers, writers, artists, filmmakers, videographers and designers

What seemed like moments later the sirens got extremely loud and Dave and Jenny heard tires screeching as a police cruiser came to a stop in Dave’s driveway.

Thomas James Broadway stepped out of the cruiser – sunglasses and wide brim Stetson hat firmly affixed to his head – gun unholstered – surveying the “situation”. TJ as he liked to call himself, worked with Dave at Bloomfield’s Sheriff’s department 11 years ago when TJ broke into the force. TJ was always looking in a mirror at himself and his uniform was always immaculately maintained; from his highly polished shoes to the tip of his hat. He earned the nickname “Broadway Joe” or just “Broadway” which TJ hated – but it stuck.

TJ looked through the iron gate down toward the back of the property. As he gazed his eye stopped at the bright red color of the swimming pool. He thought for a moment and then said to himself “Nah, can’t be”. His thoughts were interrupted by the shouting and hand waving of Jenny who was trying to get TJ’s attention.

“Miss”, TJ returned, waving his arm, “I’ll be right there”. Although TJ didn’t see Dave, dispatch had told him that Dave called in the 11-8 and requested an ambulance. TJ firmly gripped the Glock 9mm in both hands and held it with the barrel pointed to the ground as he kicked open the iron gate.

Read what you’ve missed here:

Part 1: In a Blur
Part 2: Tomato Soup
Part 3: Missing in Action

The Investment

The boy wasn’t a boy any more. He had worked hard in high school and earned a full scholarship to Duke enrolling in the business department. The life of poverty he had endured as a child was receding further into the past. His job in the Duke computer lab furnished him with all the money he needed each semester while the summer internship at Barclays in New York City held great promise for the future.

One day he would unearth that old canvas bag that he’d carried his newspapers in, the one that contained those crushed coffee cans and all that money. No one had noticed that he’d pried the u-shaped nail loose from that old cabinet and then nailed it back on, leaving the letter with the money for the dog behind. He had sworn an oath at the old man’s grave that the money would not be wasted.

With what he was learning in class about the stock market he hoped to turn the thousands into much, much more. It might be nice to return to the old neighborhood some day and set up a foundation to give others a chance.

Maybe Elisha would even begin to notice him. Now that would be something.

****
“John Linton is a floundering member of aamora. He lives in Rhode Island and Providence Plantations, the state with the biggest name and smallest size.” Check out John’s other aamora posts here (where you will find his previous “Secret” posts: “The Grave” and “The Lock”) and see more of his work by clicking here.

It is seven years since I kissed her lips and found them cold.
Photographs and flowers.
A funeral home nightgown that I did not know.
This echo.
Here and there.

We are really pleased to have Simon Kossoff contribute to aamora as a guest photographer! This is his contribution to our “Secret Project”. Simon is a photographer and teacher from England now living in Kansas City. He graduated from Brighton University with an honors degree in editorial photography in 99 and has worked on, but more often not in the field since. Kossoff’s continuing search to orientate himself in America and its culture is documented in photographic works including ‘Running on Empty’ and ‘States of Grace’. These works can be seen at Get the Picture, the photo agency where he is a member and his on-going ‘psychic co-ordinate points’ are plotted at his blog ‘Altered States of Agoraphobia’. He also posts his unedited and on-going work at jpg.com where he finds the on-line community there a continuous inspiration.

You will be well rewarded by exploring his work on his blog site and his agency site as well as on JPGmag.

(This is a sequel to John Linton’s “Secret Project” contribution, “The Lock”. You may want to check that out first by clicking here.)

The boy placed the old man’s paper on the step and left. The next day when he came to deliver another he noticed the paper he had left the day before was gone and that an SUV with out of state plates was parked by the side of the road. Before he could leave the paper a stranger opened the door. The boy asked the stranger if the old man was around and the man said that he had died. The stranger then asked if the old man had owed the boy any money for the papers. The boy told him how much and the man paid him and told him the paper was no longer needed.

As the boy continued his deliveries he noticed the old man’s next door neighbor coming out to get her paper, something that had never happened before. Every time he needed to collect from her he would have to bang on her door many times before she would answer it. When the boy gave her the paper she asked what the man had said. The boy told her and she said, “He’s Skip’s son, George. He arrived yesterday with his family and turned that house upside down looking for money he said Skip had stashed away somewhere in the house. His wife said all he found was $2,000 in an envelope with a letter that said it was for the care of the dog. Of course, he took the dog to the Vets to have him put down and put the house up for sale. He kept the $2,000.”

The woman went on to say, “The police found Skip dead after I called yesterday complaining about the dog’s constant barking. When George arrived he told the police that no one in the family could afford to pay for the old man’s burial and wanted to know if the state or the VA would pay for it. Can you imagine? I’m so glad I don’t have a son like that. George sure was upset at not finding more money. Serves him right.” With that the boy continued on his way.

A month later the boy visited the old man’s grave. After all, it was the least he could do for the old man.

***

“John Linton is a floundering member of aamora. He lives in Rhode Island and Providence Plantations, the state with the biggest name and smallest size.”

Check out John’s other aamora posts here and see more of his work  by clicking here.

In the 70s, a homeless man named Chris used to roam the streets of Toronto. He had a long white beard and wore a lumber jacket and could often be seen holding onto fire hydrants around town while yelling: “Fire Ten! Fire Twenty! Fire Thirty!” and so on.

Most people thought Chris was crazy. But if you stopped and talked to him you would discover he was in possession of a very valuable secret. Fire hydrants, according to Chris, were storehouses of power, and anyone at anytime could fuel up by just following his procedure.

Try it sometime.

Marie Wilson was one of the first members of aamora. She is a writer, photographer, artist, actor, mother and muse. Originally from Vancouver, she lives in Toronto.  This is Marie’s contribution to aamora’s “Secret Project” (more here). Enjoy more of her photography at her photosite here and check out her writing, art and photography, as well as some cool links, on her new website

Dressed to kill……

Each Christmas Eve for the past 20 years, my next door neighbor dresses in the same 1930’s vintage outfit. She is perfectly attired from head to toe.  Where she goes she never tells.  I never asked her why or where, but my rich imagination is filled with endless possibilities….  On Christmas Eve, this year, I took a candid photograph of her as she was about to descend the stairs to begin her secret journey.   And I will never tell.

Ronnie Ginnever returns as a guest to aamora to contribute this to aamora’s “Secret” Project, photographs and/or words relating to the idea of “secrets”. Ronnie is a born and bred New Yorker, and much of her work is inspired by the spirit and people of that City. Her photography has been shown in museums and galleries and published in magazines in the U.S., Canada and Europe. To find out more about Ronnie, see her website here. You will be well rewarded by exploring her galleries there. Then enjoy more of her work on jpgmag.com.

Ronnie wishes to thank John Linton for suggesting this photograph be included in aamora’s “Secret” Project. You can see other contributions to the Secret Project here and Ronnie’s previous post on aamora here.

The Wooden Box

In the next room

On a blanket

On the floor

She sits

Bent over

Looking

Into a wooden box

I see:

Acorns

A drawing

Shiny something

A marble

Something written

Something drawn

She sees:

A world

Aaron Schwartz is the founder of aamora.com. He lives in Toronto, and is a photographer, actor, writer, lawyer and flaneur. This is his contribution to aamora’s “Secret Project”. You can see more of Aaron’s photography on his own photo site , and at jpgmag.com. You can check out his previous aamora posts here and others’ contributions to the Secret Project here.

The boy had often wondered what was contained within the old man’s piece of furniture. He had been delivering papers for him for two years now and each week the old man would answer the knock on the door and allow the boy to stand in the doorway while he counted out the change he was to receive. The beat up old piece of furniture with its incredibly old lock didn’t look like it would put up much of a fight. What could the old man possibly have inside there?

He had heard rumors that the old man had survived the Great Depression and kept all his money rolled up in big wads and stored in coffee tins. Thousands of dollars, some said. Even though the house looked like it hadn’t been taken care of in a very long time, the old man must have had money to be able to afford to buy that Terrier of his a roast every couple of days to eat. That damn dog ate better than anyone the boy knew.

God knows the old man’s relatives thought he had money stashed away somewhere in the house. The old man said he didn’t like any of them. They didn’t care about him or the dog, he said, just visited every now and then in the hopes they would be mentioned in the will. “I like you.” he said to the boy, “You take the time to leave the paper by the door so I don’t have to walk to the street to get it.”

The next week, when the boy knocked on the door the dog barked, but the old man didn’t come to the door. The boy turned the knob and to his surprise the door opened and the dog jumped up at him excitedly. In the corner of the room the old man sat slumped in a chair. The old lock seemed to be taunting the boy.

This is aamora member John Linton’s contribution to the “Secret” Project. You can check out John’s other aamora posts and the other “Secrets” by clicking on the links in the next column over there —>>

Charlie was working from sun to sun for $60 a day.  He was sleeping in my house.  He ate a lot of rice.  He was from Mali but he was living in Catalunya for a while.  He was clever, cordial, kind, honest, brilliant, free.  Charlie was keeping an unspeakable secret.

Llorenç Rosanes is a photographer from Catalunya (Catalonia) and a member of aamora. This, his contribution to the “Secret” Project, is his first post on aamora.  He is a highly skilled and disciplined photographic artist whose photo series are thematically and artistically rigorous and always a pleasure to look at. You can see more of Llorenç’s work at jpgmag.com. Don’t miss his “accidents” series: click here and then click on the photograph.

Don’t Tell

No Peeking

Don’t Look

Gary Fudge made these fine contributions to the “Secret” Project in its earliest days. Gary is a founding member and co-administrator of aamora. A freelance photographer, he lives on Orkney, part of the Highlands and Islands of Scotland. He loves travel and photography. And photography. Oh, and travel. He specializes in moody imagery, stormy skies, decay and dark humour.

You will enjoy checking out Gary’s previous aamora post by clicking here and more of his work at Flatfoot Photography and at jpgmag.com .