The Cat's Short Stories - A Collection of Contest Entries

Dogs and Cans (xXMisguidedGhostsXx Short Story Contest - 5th Place)

Another contest entry, based off of another picture. If it doesn't show up on the side, hopefully you'll be able to figure out what the picture was as the story goes along.

This should be interesting:

     "You do know Mr. Hayes isn't going to accept this, right?"

     My best friend Jessica stared dubiously at my latest picture, which she held an arm's-length in front of her. From the way her eyes narrowed and her brows knit together, I could easily tell she wasn't impressed. Then again, when was she ever impressed with my photography? As a biomedical college student, she didn't understand anything that had to do with expressing yourself.

     I snatched the picture out of Jessica's unsusecting hands, checking it for fingerprints. "He will accept it! He has to, or I'm not getting this job! Besides, what's so bad about this?"

    Sitting down on my couch next to me, Jessica laughed and she patted my shoulder. "Mia, you know I'm not one for photography, but this-" she gestured to the picture, "-I just don't see the point of it. I keep trying to think 'What's the motive?' or 'What's the reason behind this?' And to be honest, I'm just not coming up with anything."

     My disheartened sigh was very obvious as I continued to study the picture. It really wasn't much, or anything too special. In fact, as far as photography went, it wasn't something one would normally expect from an aspiring photographer. And I guess that's what I liked about it - my picture of a puppy licking a can of Coca-Cola.

     Go ahead - laugh. You know you want to.

     Maybe Jessica was right after all, and Mr. Hayes wouldn't accept my photo. Maybe he would find it so strange and out of the ordinary that I would end up not getting the job as photographer at the "New York Times" newspaper. And then all my hopes and dreams would be crushed.

     Thanks to a puppy and a soda can.

     Groaning, I put my head in my hands, letting the picture flutter to the floor. Why should I even bother showing up to present the picture to Mr. Hayes tomorrow morning? I might as well spare myself the embarrassment and stay home.

     "You're not giving up, are you?" Jessica asked, picking the picture off of the floor and setting it on my lap. "Because, as your best friend, I can't let you do that."

     Keeping my face hidden, I muttered, "Weren't you the one who said Mr. Hayes wasn't going to like my photo and that you didn't get the point of it?"

     I felt Jessica lay a hand on my shoulder. "Just because I don't get it doesn't mean he won't. Mr. Hayes is a man of culture, Mia. That's why he runs the 'New York Times.' And if he doesn't like it? Tough! There are plenty of other good-paying jobs out there."

     "None that I want."

     "But they're ones you're capable of getting! Mia, you're an amazing photographer. You're a risk-taker, and this photo proves it. If the 'New York Times' doesn't want you, someone else will."

     Reluctantly, I looked up at Jessica through my fingers, raising one eyebrow. That was the most encouraging thing I'd heard her say since eigth grade, when she insisted I buy my first camera. And even if her advice was a rarity, I couldn't help but agree with her.

     In the end, I guess it didn't matter if I got the job or not. Sure, I really wanted it, but people in New York City were always on the hunt for photographers. Even if I got rejected, there were a countless number of opportunities out there.