Gilding the Lily

Photo Fiction

Brett Paufler

Page 6

So, we're back from commercial break (of the fade-out/fade-in if you're watching on DVD... or maybe just the click of a link if you're on the web) and we're still looking at the shoes. That often happens when the director (and/or writer) wants to hammer home how important a particular clue is. Or maybe it would be more appropriate to reframe it; and rather than a clue, we are looking at a significant way station on my story telling journey. Because let's face it, I'd be darned impressed if you (or anyone) could figure out what happens next in the story at this point just from what I've said. In fact, I'd probably accuse you of reading ahead (and in fact will) rather than admitting that you're that good as solving mysteries, because what follows, after all, is pure randomness.

Anyway, the pertinent point is that we're back at the same point we were only moments ago before the commercial break (and/or switch from one web page to the next). And our detectives are still staring at the same pair of sneakers (rubbers, tennis shoes, cross trainers, or whatever you wish to call them).

"These can't be her shoes. She was wearing a pair when they found the body."
"Maybe the killer noticed her bare feet, thought it looked untidy, and went and found a pair of shoes to put on her feet after he'd killed her."
"He?"
"It's just a guess."
"Going with the odds, are we?"
"Yeah, pretty much."
"And he, what? Noticed her bare feet, thought they looked untidy, so he left the crime scene, went to the store, bought a new pair of shoes, got the wrong size, returned them, got the right size, and then finally returned to the crime scene in time to lace those suckers up on her still smoldering body."
"Smoldering?"
"Yeah, during the commercial break, I gave the Captain a call on the radio."
"Trying to get out of working with me?"
"Yeah, but he wouldn't let me off the hook. But on the bright side, he was eating one of those flame char-broiled burgers," just like the author had for lunch, "so, charred flesh. The tie in is perfect. And the body was found still smoldering."
"That isn't how the creative process works. You can't just make things up."
"Oh, isn't that what you do?"
"No, there's a process."
"And that process would differ from just making things up how?"
"Um... Hey! Look over there! Wow! That looks interesting! We should check it out! Come on!"
"You're just changing the subject because you know I'm right!"
But I do believe our valiant crime fighter has made his way out of earshot. Hurry up and you might catch up with him.

On Vehicle Bridge Upstream of Park Looking at Creek

So, this is just scenery.

"This is what you had to run to? This is your 'Wow'?"
"Um... Hey, wow! Look over there! You don't see that everyday!"

White Iron Fence Custom Fabricated Around Trunk of a Tree

And this really is something. I think I'll call it an example of that old world craftsmanship (or womanship, I'm fine with either one). And either the way, this is how you build a fence if you don't want your 'progress' to destroy the 'Sentinels' or whatever we're calling the Guardians these days. Any the way, by this point, I pretty much knew it wasn't an Evil Tree that had done the killing. Well, knew might be an overstatement. But I was heading off to a graveyard (a quick look on the iPhone revealed it was the nearest likely place for me to continue my walk and look for clues). So, I do believe it seemed more likely it wasn't so much a matter of some Guardian Trees keeping an Evil Tree in, as those very same trees being completely unable to keep something else out.

Front Yard Strewn with Debri Featuring a Motorcycle

And that something was seeming like it might be a human created force or entity of one sort or another. Anyway, this is just someone's front yard. Looks cool to me. And between the 'junk' (if that is indeed junk) and the motorcycle (I'm pretty sure it's a motorcycle), it sort of caught my eye and got my mind to wandering...

"We should probably just round up the usual suspects."
"So, like all the birches and elms in the area?"
"Could you? That would be great. But really, I just thought it'd be great to harass some motorcyclist, you know, so at the end of the story it can be revealed that they were really innocent and the only reason we thought they might be guilty of anything was because of our preconceived notions and biases."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning, there's not a chance in hell the guy, girl, or gang that owns this bike is guilty of anything." In story, at least, who knows about the real. "Still, it's a hot ride. And if we knock on the door, we could always ask him about it. Maybe, if we're real nice and gung-ho about the entire thing, he'll take us for a ride. Wheee! I call shotgun."
"You don't know the first thing about motorcycles, do you?"
"Two wheels and they go 'Vroom!' What more do you need to know?"

Um, so, like, there were lots of motorcycles in that yard. And if this was some cheesy after school special (as apposed to a classy web page -- I only do classy, you'll note), they'd be owned by a gang or something, who are constantly being harassed by police, which is a shame, becuase they are, like, super duper do-gooders, classic misunderstood Lone Ranger vigilantes, and that sort of thing.

(image deleted)

Not that these two have anything to do with the bikes (might, might not, what do I know). But the motorcycle hotshots would probably be playing in the local park (or better yet, cleaning up the local park; judging by Lili'uokalani Botanical Garden, it probably could use it). And so, that said, we'd probably have to interfere with their civic minded duties in order to talk to them. As it was, I believe this father (yeah, they're probably the same age, and the one sitting down might even be a girl, but I saw father and son and the father) was hanging with his son, borrowing his skateboard, and taking a turn about the park on it (a fact that just might be a little hard to decipher from this photo. (Why is the guy standing steadying himself with his hand? Because he's on a skateboard, that's why.).

Rusted Red Car Lying Fallow Deep in the Grass

And then, there's this clunker. So, there's all this street racer stuff all together in close proximity, and I'm thinking maybe there's some sort of misunderstood cycle gang thing happening. And I've pretty much gone over this already, but let say it a slightly different way, once again. You see, back in the day (my day), I do believe that they showed certain, um, subcultures in a positive light in order to model multiculturalism and understanding. A concept that I'm probably still not explaining very well, so let me be a little more blunt. I grew up in a time of open racism. (I'm an old man.) And as things changed in the 70s, it was more socially acceptable to show Bikers, Hippies, and the like in a positive light, than it was to show some non-white social groups in a positive light. Got it? In many ways White Trash (or whatever you want to call these divergent social minorities) were often used as stand ins for other non-white minorities and as a sort of baby step on the way towards multiculturalism. I mean, if Bikers, Hippies, and the like can be seen as the 'Good Guys', than (maybe, just maybe) so could these other people (that they wouldn't even dare show on prime time TV, because that would be going too far). Eh, but then, I'm probably wrong about the entire thing and I'm not even convinced that that's the way things were back then. (My how the memory fades). But one thing about which I have no doubt is that as I was walking, I was wondering how I could work some sort of teenage rice-burner motorcycle speed enthusiasts into the story. And right from the start, I knew they'd be a red herring and not guilty of doing a single thing (not even speeding), because it's just the way of these stories go; the most likely culprit is only there to throw you off balance and test your preconceived notions -- not because they're guilty.

Yellow Object (Barrel Top?) Down in the Stream

And this is just a random piece of trash I saw in the stream. Got me what it's from.

"What do you mean, what is it? Clearly, it's the lid to a 55-gallonn container of Potassium Cyanide enriched with Di-Phosphorous Uranium-182 that someone threw off this very bridge under cover of darkness."
"You flunked chemistry, didn't you?"
"Not the third time I took it."

Trees with Vines Hanging Down (as if, 'Last Chance to Get Out')

At another bridge (I was walking down the main thoroughfare at this point), I saw this tree with vines hanging low. Clearly (for the most part, at least), the trees in these parts are as benign as can be. Find yourself caught in a flash flood (drifting towards an Evil Tree), and this guy was there ready to lend a helping hand and 'rope' you out.

Contents of Garbage Can -- mostly waded paper

It really doesn't look that way in the picture (so who knows, maybe I was suffering from heat stroke at this point), but the garbage in this can seemed sort of peculiar to me, like someone had just wadded up an entire magazine page by page, all neat and orderly like. I mean, I don't usually take pictures of trash cans. But this one just sort of called out to me.

"What are you doing now?"
"Looking for clues?"
"And lunch apparently. Put that down."
"What, there's still some meat left on this leg."
"Put it down."

A Single Fallen Flower (red, orange, and yellow)

And then I found the clue I was looking for. A fallen flower, it represents a dead body, a life taken young. I mean, you can see that, right?

"It probably just fell from that tree."
"Really? Really? Do you see nothing?"
"Just don't pick it up and weave it into your hair."
"What? Why would I do that? That would be destroying evidence."
"Oh, right. I should have known."

The Next Exciting Installment of Gilding The Lily

(((Note: while the pictures are real (as real as pictures can get) all the text should be treated as fiction -- or at least, unreliable. Nothing has been fact checked. Things change. And the truth sometimes only serves to get in the way of a good story. Thus, taken as a whole, these web pages that comprise this story should be viewed as a record of one man's flight of fancy as he takes a walk on a long sunny afternoon. Nothing more. Nothing less. And most certainly, no disrespect to any individual (living or dead) is intended.)))

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