This is the 1k word second place fic won by @tonberry-yoda in my 600 followers celebration event.
Warning(s): mention of spiders, exploring abandoned places, trespassing???
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You easily slipped past the large silver fence bearing the no-entry sign, beckoning Mista onwards past the loosely chained front gates. You tapped your foot impatiently, watching as he looked behind himself before squeezing himself through. You knew he was weary of the situation, but still offered to join you on your adventure, insistent that you shouldn’t be trespassing into the disused amusement park yourself. He was probably right. In fact, you probably shouldn’t be here at all, but the curiosity over what you might find here was too strong to resist.
“I didn’t know Italy had anything like this,” he said, trailing behind you as you wandered past the entryway and into the darkened park.
“There’s abandoned places everywhere if you know where to look,” you replied, eyes glancing around. “Where should we go first? I wonder if any of these rides still work.”
“I doubt it. Don’t they need electricity to run? Something tells me nobody’s paying the power bill around here.” He kept his hand hovering over his gun, currently tucked into his pocket. He was fully convinced this place was haunted, and wasn’t keen on running into any spirits.
You noticed his shaky demeanor, letting out a laugh. “Gu-gu,” you said, watching as he rolled his eyes at the nickname, “even if this place is haunted, what is a gun going to do? I’m pretty sure ghosts are bullet proof.”
His sex pistols, nestled closely against your chest, let out various whines. What a bunch of scared-y cats. “It just makes me feel-better, alright? And there could be creeps hanging out in a place like this. Ghosts might be immune,” he said, tapping his gun, “but people sure as hell aren’t.”
“I guess that’s true,” you mused. “But this doesn’t look like a place anyone would want to call home. I can’t imagine how many spiders live in the nooks and crannies of this place. Hah.”
“Why would you say that? That doesn’t help! I don’t want ghosts, creeps, or spiders! Why’d we come here in the first place?” he complained.
You paused your walking, silencing the crunch of leaves under your feet. You shot him an annoyed look. “I wouldn’t have invited you if I knew you were going to complain the whole time. Anyway, this place is cool. Seeing man-made objects being reclaimed by nature. . .” Your hand brushed against a tree branch growing out of a shop window. “There’s something fascinating about it. I’d like to take some pictures.”
“Well start takin’!”
You brushed off his anxious complaining, pulling out your phone. You spotted a particularly decrepit merry-go-round, walking closer to snap an image of the vines that had grown around the plastic horses. Flowers sprouted, contrasting perfectly with the painted roses decorating the fake horse. There was a poetic juxtaposition, and you took a few pictures, making sure to incorporate the dense forest lurking just behind the ride.
Satisfied with your images, you moved on, shoes clicking on the broken concrete path as you searched for a new picture subject.
It wasn’t hard—as you watched Mista leaning against an old test-your-strength carnival game. He stared off in the distance, a serene look on his face. You smiled, snapping a picture. Mista took note, letting out a confused laugh.
“What’re you doin’?” he questioned, eyes now on you as you continued your impromptu photo-shoot.
“You bring a nice contrast to the image—it’s interesting comparing modern humanity with newly abandoned humanity and nature. . . hey, would you mind posing for a few more pictures, actually?”
His cheeks reddened, and he scratched his neck awkwardly. “I don’t care. Just, don’t take any ugly pictures, would’ya? I don’t need Narancia scrounging them up somehow.”
You scoffed. “I don’t think taking an ugly picture of you is possible. You’re handsome, Gu, baby. Don’t worry.”
His already embarrassed visage increased, leaving him unable to reply for a few moments. “Thanks, babe. I appreciate the ego-boost. Anyway, where do you want me?”
You began directing him to stand in certain places, making sure to perfect the pose for the aesthetic you had in mind. You ended up with many beautiful pictures—all incorporating the feeling of lost memories—having him sitting in a former ride car, or leaning on a counter, waiting to be served by an employee long gone. He even convinced you to be the focus of a few images. They all turned out amazing, and at the end of your adventure, you squeezed back out through the fence gate, a good-spirited Mista behind you.
After getting home, you pulled the photos up on your computer, able to look them over easier and make the necessary edits to result in a well-composed image. There was one particular that became your favorite—the first picture of Mista next to the old carnival game. There was something about the genuine relaxation on his face compared to the spooky surroundings that gave you nostalgia for a place you’d never been. You’d have to visit that place again, maybe bringing along the others for a group photoshoot. It might take some convincing, but you had a feeling nobody would say no to a chance to capture the group.
“How’s it goin’?” Mista’s voice called from your open office door. You turned in your chair, beckoning him over to look at your finished edited pictures. You had your favorite image pulled up.
“They turned out really nice,” you replied. “Look at the composition and color contrast of this piece. Your hat matched the machine color perfectly. And look how handsome you are here.”
He pressed a kiss to your cheek. “Thanks to your picture-taking skills. And editing skills.”
You rolled your eyes, caressing his face. “It was also thanks to the fact that you’re just handsome. Thank you for being my muse today.”
“Anything for you, babe. Are you ready for bed now? It’s too cold laying there by myself.”
You nodded, turning off your computer before stretching, letting out a yawn. “Yeah. Go lay down and I’ll join you in a second.”
He pecked your lips. “Sounds good, sweetheart.”
You smiled softly. You didn’t know what you’d do without him. Your Muse. Your Guido Mista.
