I chose to write a narrative about the photograph Candy Cigarette taken by Sally Mann because each time I view it I see a different story. The more I learn about its history, the more my story changes as well. I took the way I feel about this photograph and wrote a short narrative from the perspective of one of her children in the photo, Jessie. How would she feel when people would say these things about her, her mother or just the photo? What did she think about the photo, both then and now? What might her other siblings have felt? I chose to have her watch anonymously as people viewed her mother’s work in a museum. I felt it provided the most believable setting in which this could be achieved. Jessie had aged and wouldn’t be as easily recognizable. She would receive a diverse amount of comments and the most honest reactions. One piece of information I learned about this photograph I did not know before was that Jessie was now a model and artist. Now I am left with a question. How much did her mom’s occupation and use of her in it directly impact her own career choices?
My name is Jessie. Today, I am sitting in a museum in front of this photograph and I am watching and listening to everyone who encounters it. It isn’t the first time I have done this. The first time I did it, I was thirteen. The first person I encountered stopped in front of the photograph, paused, shook her head from left to right, and as my own head tilted in curiosity she curled her lip in distaste. That is a look that I have since seen on hundreds of faces. I enjoy the talkers the most. Then I don’t have to guess what they might be thinking. My favorite by far is the woman who turned to her husband and said, “What they ought to do is take this photograph off the museum wall and march it right down to Child Protective Services so someone can help this young girl who is being abused.” I didn’t laugh, but I wanted to. Her words might have been the harshest, but there were many comments like it over the years. I started to wonder if someone shouldn’t act. The last group is those who just look. Sometimes they stay and look for a while and sometimes they just glance and move on. They form the story they want to see and that is exactly what it should be. The photographer tells their story but that story is interpreted, transformed and retold. The original story remains important only to the photographer. And no, the girl in the photo should not be taken away and placed in protective custody.
I know this because I am the girl in the photograph and the photographer is my mother Sally Mann. I know that people feel many ways when looking at some of the photographs my mother took of us as kids. Each of us kids felt many ways about it too. I loved staging photographs and modeling. These informal sessions are probably why I am a model and artist today. My brother, well he didn’t like it. His friends started to pick on him as he got older and he just became really uncomfortable with Mom photographing us the way she did. He still feels that way today. Even in the family, it is easy to see there are several ways of feeling about the photograph, so I don’t expect anything less when it comes to the public.
One day in that same museum a man asked me why I was smiling looking at the picture. I am older now and it wouldn’t initially be apparent it is me in the photo. I told him I finally understood how offensive this picture was after coming to see it for so many years. After all, what kind of photographer takes advantage of what is obviously a neglected child? One who is grown beyond her years? Only a child in crisis would blatantly smoke a cigarette in front of adult onlookers. Someone really should have stepped in. The man was already shaking his head from left to right. “No, no” he said. “I read an article about this photo years ago. It was the photographer’s children in the photo. She often used them as subjects. I know at first it seems inappropriate but that is only because the onlooker makes assumptions like you just did. That is a candy cigarette, not a real one. It is popular because it is provocative but knowing the story changes perception.” I tilted my head and smiled as I looked at the photo once more and thought to myself “That it does.”
She has no idea why she is called SPARK; but she is about to. What she does know at this point is the home that was her home up until three days ago is not really her home. The two people in the 8 x 10 picture frame on her nightstand who she believed were her parents for the past eighteen years are apparently two random strangers she has never met. The only known picture of her is the one she just took in the drugstore fun photo booth because JARED said no one should be able to say they have never had their picture taken. Oh yeah, there is Jared. She knows more about Jared in two days than she knows about any of the people she has spent all her life living with. She doesn’t know if anything he says is true. She doesn’t know if anything is true anymore. Everything she has read, heard and seen in the past three days she doubts. That is what happens when everything you ever knew becomes a lie.
Once careful, she is now reckless. Sleeping alongside Jared in an abandoned room he has been staying in. Once sure of everything, she now questions everything. She has no more plan now than three days ago when she left the house and never looked back. She might not be looking back but she is stuck and not moving forward either. She is becoming impulsive and frantic about what comes next. It is one of these moments where Jared is trying to calm her down that she slams her palms down on the hood of the car that she has been leaning against and freezes. Jared stops talking in the middle of his sentence and stares at her hands instead. She follows his gaze and looks at them too. The car has started at the very moment her hands hit it. She retracts her palms as if she touched fire. She looks around. Someone has to be toying with her. Coming full circle she sees nothing but she hears Jared telling her to do it again. This starts a series of her laying her hands on anything mechanical in sight. She would have stopped at the second car if it too hadn’t started. But no, everything she touched roared to life. Suddenly, why she was called Spark became clearer. A sense of dread started to consume her. She hadn’t run away. She just hadn’t been found. There was someone looking for her and if she didn’t figure things out fast, she was about to find out why.
At the start of brainstorming on the Kogi final project, the thought was to create something which could connect with a younger demographic. Our initial idea was to create a children’s story but after discussing the importance of illustrations in a children’s story and our combined lack of talent illustrating, we identified another target age group. After some discussions, we decided to target the young adult age group from about 14 to 19 which would complement the story we wanted to tell. The two things which did stay the same throughout planning were we needed to tell the story in five minutes or less and the final medium chosen needed to be something the age group could relate to. Our first thought was a music video.
We continued working on the story we wanted to tell through storyboarding images we were collecting and outlining the story to tell. After one of the classes, we discarded the music video idea. The music the Kogi play would not make a connection with the age group we were targeting. Instead, we decided to create an educational resource aid which educators could present as an opening to environmental conversations. The target age group remained the same. We determined the focus in our narrative would reveal some of the customs of the Kogi people but the main focus would be the parallel examples of how they grow up versus the rituals of a Kogi same age. The goal was to create a way in which young adults could identify with the Kogi and their cause. Once this identification had taken place, then the potential for them to hear the Kogi’s message would be elevated.
To gather this information, I watched the documentary, skimmed the book which was provided, watched other videos online and gathered still pictures. Sonika and I met to finally determine the medium we would present the final project in, select visuals and select information we wanted to include. In the end we decided to present the visuals and music in an iMovie format. We felt the age group would be more receptive to this format rather than a Power Point slideshow. Initially, we were going to include the voice over reading the narrative which was written. We decided to separate it so that full attention was given to the story as well as the visuals. We thought the spoken story might be distracting. After presenting our final project, I can see where it would be more effective to provide the narrative as a hardcopy resource, extract key points from it and instead insert voiceover into the iMovie presentation. There is also room for adaptations on the visuals in order for them to appear more choreographed with the story we wanted to tell. Sonika and I plan to work on this at the beginning of Fall Semester to polish and potentially add to our permanent portfolios. The main lesson I take away from working through this process is how important every choice is which is made when telling a story. Each choice made can change the story itself, how it is heard, who hears it and ultimately how successful you were in your ambitions.
As we search for a way to keep the inhabitants of this planet from destroying it and each other we often look to our governments and officials to guide us. Their proposals, implementations and power driven suggestions have done nothing to improve the emotional or physical state of our planet. It is becoming apparent the solutions will not arrive packaged neatly in the next political campaign. Perhaps we need to strip away the confinements of international policy and go back to the beginning. We ignore the advice of our elders and trudge defiantly into the future assuming our generation has the answers. Let’s try a different approach and turn to our elders. More specifically, we turn to the warning the Elder Brothers of the Kogi tribe delivered not just once, but twice. First in 1989, the Kogi delivered their first warning to the younger brothers. The grouping of younger brothers includes everyone other than the Kogi. Twenty years later, the warning grows in urgency as signs of deterioration become evident, even to us. No longer is it enough for the Elders to pray and make offerings to keep the planet in balance. They have and are making the plea to us, to begin respecting nature and stop robbing future generations of the natural resources.
It has always been said that our future depends on the rising generations. The Kogi have always known the answer to protecting the earth rested within the children. Is the solution as simple as illustrating the Kogi raise their descendants to respect and give back to the earth; whereas, the younger brothers have encouraged their descendants to use the earth’s natural resources to advance their agendas? It’s a start. To identify areas where we can begin to change we look at the rites of passage for a child of the Kogi and a child here. A Kogi child is born into nature and forms its bond at once. As infants, we are sheltered from it with many new mothers keeping children shut away from germs and other perceived dangers until they are deemed stronger. In most cases, the Kogi select their future “mamas” at infancy. They begin their enlightenment journey by heading into the dark, receiving only what is necessary to survive but never so much as to interfere with their purpose. They learn early when they take from the earth, they must give back to achieve balance. Even children not selected as “mamas” will learn to live in unison with the earth, taking only what is needed and using all that is taken. Our children are sent to school and yet another opportunity to cultivate a balance between us and earth is presented and ignored. Instead, we offer instruction on how to consume, calculate and illustrate. Classes teaching us to nourish, cultivate and create are disappearing in schools across our nation.
As Kogi males go through the ritual of becoming a man at the age of eighteen they are once again reminded to keep balance between nature, women and men. They eat the dried cocoa bush leaves to numb their mouth. These leaves are tended and grown only by women but eaten only by men. They numb the mouth in order not to feel the pain of the powdered lime on a stick that serves as a constant reminder in adulthood of maintaining balance. This ritual represents both sexes working together. The stick a symbol for manhood and the bowl that contains the lime represents a woman’s womb. Those chosen as “mamas” live a life of rituals and are only shown daylight when they become eighteen. It is at this point the Kogi believe the “mamas” will feel the full enlightenment the Sun possesses. In contrast, the rituals for our eighteen year olds center on consumption. This is often the point where career and education paths are chosen and very little thought is given to the environment. As adulthood is reached, there is a greater divide than ever between the younger and elder brother’s relationship with the planet. Consider the fact the Kogi’s habitat, traditions and way of life have endured through the generations. Then consider how our traditions are disappearing, habitat is degrading and our way of life is rapidly transforming. Admittedly, there will never be a return to our natural habitats and rejection of technological advances. There can however, be an understanding change is necessary. Creating our own enlightenment when it comes to using and replenishing the gifts of the earth can begin. The Kogi believe the responsibility for the continued existence of this planet and all of it’s’ life forms rests on their shoulders. It is no longer acceptable for them to bear this responsibility alone. After all, the sun the elder and younger brothers stand beneath each day is the same. The only bridge to cross is how we see that same sun.
· Music video
· Stills and video from Kogi film and internet
· Images of barren and fruitful environment (taken from internet and by us to incorporate photography)
· Music (flutey and shakers) free music sites
· Make lyrics telling the story
· Develop image for interweaving the story (fabric or other items interlocking)
· Images to uphold the Elder brother prophecy
· Come up with general narrative to build lyrics
· Final project complete except for singing
Source –general conversation
· Kogi – Columbian
· First warning in 1989 now 20 years late the damage and more warning
· Water – mamas
· Theirs ours and inner world
· Taironas vanished but did not die
· Kogi= Elder brother/mamas Us= younger brother
· Sierra Nevada = Heart of the World
· Spanish conquering in 1512 Santa M cocaine and other drugs in the city
· Tomb robbers digging up treasures in plain day-no law and order
· 1973- El Inferno aka Hell – rumor of great city of gold – explorer found it – referred to as the Lost City
· The city was very sophisticated – water drained away naturally – great respect for nature during construction – as such it is still standing while other constructions are washed away- building with nature and not against it -------strong message
· Every environment and all animals are to be respected.
· No one has infiltrated the Kogi.
· How does a Kogi speak Spanish?
· The Bridge\Gate – no one had entered from outside until then
· Heirarchy – vassals – ordinary citizens then ruled by gaurds who are appointed by mamas who are both appointed by divination.
· Tools are useful.
· Shoes are not because they break contact with the Earth.
· Mama = Sun = Enlightened One.
· World House- over 1000 years old – only men can enter
· Looting is destroying the world.
· Have any Kogi left? Been sent away?
· Stealing a younger to show the way (older younger theme)
· 18 initiated as a man- dried leaves of cocoa bush numbing-chew them –they are tended and grown only by women but eaten only by men-then they eat the powdered lime on stick but do not feel burning because of cocoa.
· Lime is kept in the “symbol of manhood” they hold which looks like a penis but symbolizes a womans womb-safeguard—stick=man---this represents both sexes working together.
· They consume the cocoa leaves to think clearly.
· Do not believe in hitting or mistreating a wife in any way. They are to care for her.
· Do not cut down fruit trees and respect all green.
· 36:53 gives a sample of music – rattle and flute like pipe.
· 9 worlds 9 daughters each given a color – sons were the lords of creation.
· The 9th world was peopled by the mother—people were made to care for living things.
· Weaving is done with 9 threads. It takes a month to make a cloth.
· They burn seashells to make lime.
· Think deeply about every task being done.
· When you take something you also are to make a payment or give something in return.
· During days of conquest they tried to claim they were all homosexual simply because they slept communally. This was done to incite the uprising.
· Women do the planting, praying and guardians.
· There are two houses. One for the men and one for the women and children.
· To train mamas they take babies and send them into the dark to hone their gift/senses. A breastfeeding mother is to only eat purely as is the child.
· They believe they are responsible for the harmony of the world.
· Sacred lake has been drained. All green drying up and everything beneath it will die as a result. This is how they know the end is coming.
A group of filmmakers eager to uncover one of the last indigenous tribes in Columbia make the trek deep into the jungle. They heard the story of the Kogi living in the Sierra Nevada and expect to find the tribe living in depraved conditions. As the journey continues, they pass several tomb robbers and are cautioned not to film as it is illegal activity. Admittedly, the hired guides from the city confess little is done to regulate it. The digging takes place in broad daylight and one of the cameramen quietly tapes the three raiders without their knowledge. As we walk on there is something different. The environments they usually encounter are typically eroded, lacking resources and less than sustainable.
With each footfall, we take note of the elaborate eco systems both natural and man-made, or perhaps better stated man-made in collaboration with the natural state. It is obvious as the sound of free flowing water travels; it has quenched the thirst of all the vegetation in its path with ease. Everything is lush and bountiful. It isn’t but a few moments when what must be the Kogi start to appear. They do not appear to even notice us as we continue on and they keep their distance. It isn’t fear or even curiosity as one might expect. In fact, it is quite the opposite. They are completely indifferent. This should raise alarm, but our own curiosity obliterates our intuition. Ahead, there is a bridge and as expected, a crude but effective gate blocking the bridge from access.
As we draw closer to the bridge we initially thought was empty, we see at least five Kogi in plain sight. It is not difficult to imagine how many are hidden from view but there is no doubt it is many. We stop at the gate. It is apparent we are not welcome beyond the gates. They open only enough to allow two of the Kogi through. I had often wondered how they communicated with those who have come as far as these gates but never beyond. My question is answered as one of the two Kogi stepped forward and began to speak Spanish which most everyone in our group spoke. I begin to tell them why we have come. They do not appear surprised. Instantly, I am told we will not gain entry. No one other than Kogi cross the bridge. They tell us we can camp anywhere from right here all the way back to where we started. I tell him I would like to talk more so that I can explain the meaning of the story I want to tell. He replies they have a story they want to tell as well and will find where we made our camp the next day.
We are left with no alternative other than accept the boundaries the Kogi have delivered. We make camp and discuss as a group how we might still gain entry beyond the bridges gate. The next day brings us no closer to entry but as promised it does bring the Kogi. There is one among them that is clearly not Kogi, or Columbian for that matter. His attire is Kogi, his mannerisms and the way he moves about the group of men also Kogi traits. As we sit down to speak, my eyes have not left him. Before they even begin to speak, I can sense what they want to say has something to do with him. I am not wrong. Within moments the story we came to gather has transformed into the story the Kogi Elders want to be told. The one they have chosen to tell it? It is the barely grown man who has been raised to tell the story to the outside world. Abandoned as an infant, the Kogi took it as a sign and nurtured the child as they nurture all living things. Now the story begins.
I had to get out of here but where was I going to go? It would be an hour or so before anyone would look for me. School was over four miles away. My heart told me I should start running and never look back. Fortunately my brain won the battle. Walking four miles would take close to an hour at which point Dr. Ingall would be driving the younger kids to school on the only road to town. It would be the shortest run away from home in history. Then again, with my eighteenth birthday just around the corner, maybe I was making it easy on them. I felt the anger surge again and reached under my bed to grab the old backpack I hadn’t used in a few years.
I glanced around the room searching for the things I would miss most. It wasn’t much. There were no pictures on the wall and the one picture I thought had significance was about as meaningful as gum stuck to the bottom of a shoe. I bent down and slid my hand between the mattress and the box spring, knowing the exact spot to find my favorite book. An antiquated choice most of the other girls in the house had made fun of me for. That is how it found its home underneath my mattress. Anyone could tell it was a favorite just from seeing its condition; the well-worn cover hanging on for dear life, dog-eared pages containing favorite scenes and the numerous bookmarks jutting from between pages marking stop and start points over the years. It was hard for me to believe everyone didn’t covet “Little Women” the way that I did. Each time I read it, a different character became my favorite. Right now, I felt like Jo trying to find the courage to do something brave when all around her everything was falling apart. I had never thought about it before but a book was my single most important possession. Into the bottom of the backpack I placed it and then proceeded to grab the rest of my belongings.
Once I had placed as many articles of clothing and personal items into the bag as it could hold; I fastened the lock and slid it under the bed. I sat down on the edge of the bed and realized without any hesitation, I had just decided to leave the only home I had ever known. The problem was deciding to do it and actually doing it were two entirely different things. I could already hear the younger kids pounding down the stairs and knew if I didn’t soon follow, someone would soon be sent to look for me. I rose from the bed, and turned back once to make sure my bag could not be seen from the doorway. After pulling my bedroom door shut behind me, I took a deep breath and proceeded down the stairs, confident I could pretend there was nothing different from any other day. It really wasn’t that difficult considering there were so many of us. The mornings were chaotic as everyone prepared to start their day, so I took my plate to the table and sat down. Normally, I was not an aggressive eater and was often the last one at the table in the morning. This morning I just wanted to avoid everyone so I hurried through eating, clearing and washing my own dish. I slipped into the educational room and started on my planned lessons for the day. I had already graduated and received my diploma by state standards last year. Dr. Ingall was always saying we should continue learning beyond what is required of us. I never questioned it for two reasons. First, I loved learning; writing, reading, researching, all of it. Secondly, everyone in our house was always learning, even the adults. The only thing that was strange is that it was the last time I would sit at this desk and open these books.
The three hours we worked on morning lessons flew by. The next two hours were our own to spend as we liked. Usually, I had something to eat and read for a while. I went in to the kitchen as usual but instead of just a normal lunch, I made a lunch that would feed quite a few people. Grabbing all I could without being noticed, I slipped up the back stairs and back into my room. I added the food to the contents of my bag and waited until the halls were quiet. My heartbeat had quickened as reality set in. If someone saw me now, there would be no question about what I was doing as I swung the backpack over my shoulder and slipped the other strap on.
I carefully took each step, pausing to make sure no one was around each corner or in each room I had to pass through. It seemed as if an hour had passed before I made it to the back porch. A quick glance at my watch revealed only ten minutes had passed. Peeking through the curtains on the porch door revealed an empty yard. Turning the knob on the door slowly, I then slipped out of the door and made my first steps into the unknown. I didn’t look back as I crossed the field to the walking path that followed along the main road. I didn’t want to know if anyone was looking out the windows of the house watching my fleeing. I was still so angry about what I had overheard that I couldn’t be upset. Besides, in just a few days, I would have been leaving anyhow. One emotion did start to take over with each footstep taking me farther from the only home I had known and it was fear. I had spent the whole morning planning how to get out of the house and I didn’t have a clue where I was going. Well maybe the several mile walk to town would deliver a solution. There was no going back now.
The story will be presented as a documentary style. It follows a man named JOHN, who lives in Tryone, PA. He has lived in Pennsylvania his entire life and built a successful veterinarian business. During his spare time he volunteers for the Special Olympics and is an avid collector of Coca-Cola memorabilia. I visit John at his home on a Saturday morning and the plan is for him to show me pieces of his collection. During this time he provides stories as he remembers them regarding details such as how he acquired the piece, any sentimental memory about it and potential value. The purpose is to gain as much footage and background about the pieces in order to document one of the largest collections in central Pennsylvania.
Upon entering the home you are greeted by his six dogs. Walking down a narrow hallway we enter the first room. I am expecting to see display cases with Coca-Cola memorabilia lining the walls and shelving units filled to capacity. Instead, boxes cover most every inch of the floor. Against the walls they are stacked floor to ceiling. John says he went through some of the boxes and pulled out the pieces he thought we wanted to hear more about. He starts to pull pieces out randomly and seems oblivious to the chaos surrounding him. As I ask him questions, he reveals that his collection has been featured on the local news years ago, but the collection has grown since then. John places the piece he holds on top of an open box and we leave the room. Camera still rolling, I am asking if he catalogs the items so he knows where they are. He does keep a list of items he has acquired and how much he paid for them. He says he knows where each item is so there is no reason to catalog.
As we go from one room to the next the question starts to surface. When does collecting become hoarding? We have been greeted by six dogs, entered not one but two rooms dedicated to Coca-Cola items, passed by a living room with seven differently decorated Christmas trees (it is July), into a dining room with three china cabinets filled with collectible depression glass. As one documentary comes to a close, the possibility for several more can be imagined.
Writing Exercise 1.3
A Day in the Life of……
Spark. I never knew why they called me Spark. Just imagine growing up having to explain that name. “Is that your given name?” “Is that short for Sparkle?” I never answered them. I had no idea what the answers were. Hell, I didn’t even know who “they” were. I thought I did. Each night I laid in bed staring at a photograph on my nightstand. He was good looking, in a businessman sort of way and she was beautiful. His arm protectively wrapped around her waist and her smiling in a way which left little doubt how in love she was. I used to picture myself standing in between them as they looked down at me with pride. I spent hours staring at their faces looking for my auburn hair, upturned nose and emerald green eyes. Staring back at me were two brunettes with deep brown eyes. I never questioned it much, mainly because there was no one to question.
I lived in a group home ever since I could remember. My parents were killed in a car accident when I was a year old. My mother and father had no living relatives so I was sent here. There were eight of us living here right now. Eight of us, Dr. Ingall and Ms. Cornish all lived in a three level house in Virginia. I went to school each day and for the most part I liked it. I remember other kids asking lots of questions. Why doesn’t your Mom or Dad ever bring you to school? Why do all of your brothers and sisters have different last names? It wasn’t really those questions which bothered me; it was the stories I heard them talking about. Birthday parties with family, watching television each night, playing outside with friends and having girlfriends sleep over. Never once, had any child knocked on our front door, let alone slept over for the night. We did do things together but it wasn’t parties. We did have time to play but it seemed different from what I heard the other kids describe. The questions stopped when I was ten years old. That was the last year I went to school. Dr. Ingall and Ms. Cornish started teaching me then. I just assumed everyone stopped going to school in the fifth grade. After all, there was no grade above fifth in my school and all the other kids in the house had stopped going then too. Dr. Ingall and Ms. Cornish took over my education and when the other kids left for school, I and two others started our lessons. I never thought of the others as brothers and sisters. Some of us talked to each other more than others but for living in the same house, we were kept apart much of the time. As each year passed, I became fearful of what the future held for me. At sixteen, I started to become very aware there was now only one older child in the house with me. At eighteen, each child left the house. When I was younger, I didn’t think much of it. The books I had read and movies we had been allowed to see taught me enough to know that eighteen was the legal age of adulthood. If adults didn’t live at home with their real parents, then they sure wouldn’t do it here. What was so unsettling about turning eighteen in this house was you never saw the person again. You went to bed seventeen and woke up gone.
Well I wasn’t eighteen yet. I was seventeen years, eleven months and three weeks and my plan was to not think of what was to come. I was going to enjoy every last moment of the known that I could. With a final glide of the brush down the strands of my hair, I tossed it on the dresser, left my room and began the descent down the back stair case to the kitchen. This always irritated Ms. Cornish. She claimed I was sneaking around and should use the main stairs like everyone else. Truth is, the stairs were right outside my bedroom door. It didn’t make sense not to use them. So I did, every day since I could remember. As I neared the bottom step, I heard Dr. Ingall and Ms. Cornish speaking. This was not unusual as most mornings I was the first to arrive and they were always there first, talking about the day’s schedule. What caught my attention was hearing my name. Dr. Ingall said, “Make sure everything is in place for Spark’s transition this Friday” to which she replied “I am not sure Spark will believe what I tell her. She is more inquisitive than the others”. I leaned forward to hear more of what it is I wouldn’t believe and nearly toppled off the bottom step. “Well Ms. Cornish, that is your job isn’t it? To convince her? Besides, it really shouldn’t be that difficult. After all, she still believes the picture that came with the frame are her real parents.” Somewhere in a tunnel I could hear them both laughing, but it was farther and farther in the distance. It was only after I heard the click of my bedroom door that I realized I had reversed all the way backing up the stairs into my room. My heart was racing. The pounding in my head matched the thunder in my chest. My eyes instantly were drawn to the nightstand but I was seeing differently this time. Not my parents? How could I have been so stupid? Of course the two perfect people staring back at me wouldn’t be parents of someone like me. Now it wasn’t just fear of turning eighteen which took over my emotions. As my eyes darted wildly around the room, there was panic and rage coursing through me. I had to get out of here.
20 film tweets
1. She sits on the couch looking at a photo album. As she turns the page her expression turns to horror, there is a picture of her murder staring back at her.
2. She climbs the steps to the attic door. She turns the handle and a waterfall of large spiders cascades down over her.
3. A wife takes the kids away for a picnic to put the fight with her husband out of her mind. She opens the trunk of the car as the kids pile in the back, only to see the dead stare of her husband’s eyes glaring back at her.
4. A couple wakes after hearing a noise and he leaves her to go investigate armed with a gun. She hears a shot and creeps towards the door unsure of who survives.
5. He walks up to the podium confident in the speech he is about to deliver. He opens his mouth and nothing comes out.
6. White knuckles conveying her fear to fly, mechanical trouble necessitates an emergency landing. Oxygen use becomes necessary and all the masks fall but hers.
7. A single mother of two goes back to college. The focus is on humorous experiences geared towards a younger student such as alcohol and peer counseling.
8. Female meets man online who invites her to a family BBQ. She shows up to the wrong BBQ and mistakenly identifies her blind date. Guy reacts to her making first move.
9. Guy finds out he is adopted and goes in search of biological father. He discovers he was an adult film star and starts to think he is genetically predisposed to it once they meet.
10. Three models get on a plane for an undisclosed location shoot. They arrive and realize they have landed in an alter reality where they are no longer the desired model type.
11. To prove to his teacher the power of social media a middle school boy creates a profile of a dictator of an unnamed country. He starts a campaign which goes viral. What follows is mayhem.
12. A hacker undermines a major player in the online payment market. Unknowingly, they agree to donate 1% of each transaction to an account held by the hacker to abolish world hunger.
13. A grandmother switches bodies with her and granddaughter and she is sent back in time to the era of her grandmother. A series of humorous adjustments follow.
14. A missing plane is finally located after weeks of searching. The deep sea divers sent to recover the black box find something even darker when they arrive.
15. A small town mourns as a flood covers most of the town in water. What starts to rise to the top is a graveyard of missing children over the past 50 years. The killer is among the living.
16. A herd of elephants starts behaving aggressively as it travels the plains of Africa. Violent means of extermination have been used without success. It is soon revealed it is an enemy invasion but how to respond?
17. Woman wanted for 33 years found living in the very house she was originally arrested in. Found in her apartment is top secret intelligence surveillance.
18. The G-7 conference is set to meet after Russia is excluded from it. While they are meeting Russia takes action with a new covert conference which has secretly been meeting for years.
19. Whales, dolphin and fish start beaching themselves along coasts worldwide. It is not long before they are seen on all fours and covering land. Their mission is domination. Our defense. None.
20. Two girls determined to save their high school start a fundraising campaign. History reveals there were unspeakable acts which took place long before the school was built.