The sun shines modestly, warming the air just enough. Putting a twinkle of yellow in the large blue sky. Sheer, white clouds lie across the sky in streaks, so close you could grab them and eat them like cotton candy. It's green and great weather for days.

Two figures grace the beautiful landscape. A man and a woman. She takes off in a skip and he playfully chases after her, eventually catching her and bringing her down to the soft earth. They roll and tumble, laughs emerging from the rumble. Eyes cheery with content. Faces split with smiles.

The man stands, offering a hand and pulling her up into his arms. He brings her as close as he can, but something slung from his neck is in between them.

"Why did you bring that?" she inquires.
"So, I can take pictures of you." he tells her. "Go pose for me."

She complies, happily skipping and posing in front of her green backdrop. She's playful, silly, doing overdramatic poses, mocking models. Her attitude grows serious, finding the emotion within her and portraying it. With her eyes. With her face. With her body.

Her long brown locks blow with ease in the wind. The deep curls look like water in the air--silky, auburn water. A t-shirt hugs her torso nicely. Her jeans are small and fit her perfectly. She sports a pair of sandals, as well.

The sandals fall to the ground, she rubs her feet across the blades of grass. Her hands delicately peel the t-shirt away and fling it aside. She unhooks her bra slowly, eyes piercing the lens of the camera. Her bra comes off, her jeans and panties follow suit.

Her hands delicately rub her breast, teasing her nipples. Legs splayed, two fingers slide down her abdomen and stroke her lips tenderly. Her head flings back, she writhes and moans, now in her own world of pleasure. She has forgotten about the camera.

Her head bobs for a moment before darting up. Her eyes align with his. The camera sits on the ground. He's no longer photographing her, he's watching her.

Her eyes turn cold, losing all warmth. She reaches for her clothing, feverishly covering her revealed body. She screams, shrill and unbearable. The noise is like daggers to his ears and he covers them, squeezing his head to trap out the sound. He falls to his eyes and painfully falls over, bringing his legs up and crawling into a fetal position.

Trent wakes up in a cold sweat, breathing rapidly, shallowly. He coughs and draws in air quickly. His ears ring and he sticks a finger in them, shaking it, trying to stop the ringing.

He falls out of bed. On the floor, he is able to catch his breath. His eyes rapidly blink, before slowing. He pushes himself up and sits on the edge of the bed.

He looks over to his clock. The illuminated numbers tell him it's a little after four. Everything else is completely dark.

He walks into the bathroom, stumbling somewhat. A stream of cold water rushes from the sink faucet. He places his hands under it and generously splashes the icy liquid on his face.

The dream was... Well, it was a lot of things. Beautiful, peaceful, friendly, happy, sexy, erotic, frigtening, scary, fatalistic.

But, it left Trent with an idea: photography. It'd never crossed his mind to photograph this woman who has so dearly wrapped Trent's mind into a rollercoaster.

He sits, waiting in the parking lot across from Starbucks. He saw her walk in a little while ago. A camera sits on the passenger seated, loaded, ready. Much like a gun, ready to take a few shots.

She steps, a book and a coffee in hand. Flash, flash, flash. The shots follow her to her car.

Trent steps out when she has left the vicinity, crosses the street and enters Starbucks. He walks up to the counter. There's a man working at the register.

The man's face frowns. An expression you'd expect a salesclerk to make if Stu-E walked into an Armani store. Like what the FUCK do you want?

"Uh, welcome to Starbucks...Can I help you?" Soft voice. He ask like he knows Trent needs some help.
"Yeah. The girl that was in here, she comes in here almost everyday. Do you know her?" Everything runs together.
His expression turns more fierce. To pity. He turns around, tending to some other business and says, "Don't remember."

And it ends at that. He realizes he's going to get no help from this guy and leaves.

He got the photos developed. The package sits on the dashboard, unopened.

He grabs it and goes into his house, picking up the mail and tossing it on the table. He makes his way up to his room, tosses all his accessories and such--keys, sunglasses, and all the works--on the bed. He kicks off his shoes. and sits the photos on the dresser, leaving them to go take a shower.

He can't help but return. He did take the photos to look at them. So, why does he suddenly not want to?

He lets out a sigh, rotating his shoulders, trying to get rid of the tension built up in his body. He breaks the seal, uneasily.