Short fiction/prose inspired by Driveclub pictures *OP edited*

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MeanElf
Whilst many of the Driveclub images, especially those from the scenery thread seem to have a story begging to come out centred upon that moment, it was only yesterday that I felt compelled to hobble into action regarding this.

So, I thought it might be a fun idea to create a thread for people to do just that. If you see a picture anywhere in the photomode forums which speaks to you above and beyond the normal ways, then please feel free to describe what that picture/moment is saying to you.

EDIT: For those wanting to join in, you can ensure the image you are intending to use is displayed as an image rather than the usual GTP link by doing the following: right click the image, copy the link from properties and insert into your post via the 'image' button, that will give you a pop-up box to put the link in. Thanks to @Nato_777 for the suggestion and technical assistance.

I'll start with a picture from Mr @torque99

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Unsure if the creaking was coming from his rickety old bicycle, or his tired back and legs, Isao pedalled methodically onwards, uphill; forever uphill it seemed.

Of course, it had been a bright day, hot too; both were facts that didn't help him currently in his tired and thirsty state.

Fortunately now though, as late afternoon approached early evening, the air had begun cooling down, and that he at least was grateful for.

Today was his fourth up in the mountains above Motosu Lake. Every day of his holiday so far, he had been seeking the perfect view of Mount Fuji, one to rival Hokusai's famous prints.

Amongst all of the tourists and other artistically minded people who had flocked to the lake, he alone had an easel with him. Isao took a quiet satisfaction in that. Let them try to capture that majesty and scope on their smart phones; for Isao that would never be enough.

He had his watercolour blocks, an array of brushes and even distilled water in an old, sealed jar. On top of that, strapped to his easel was a board, folding chair and tube of watercolour paper, plus sketch book and of course pencils as well as charcoal. He was fully prepared, even having an umbrella for the eventuality of any unseasonal rain.

So far, he had made twenty or so sketches, mostly in colour, but nothing that had sustained that special feel in him of having found a truly worthy view.

He did not mind however, this was his vacation and not his first in search of that elusive image. Isao was if nothing, a patient man.

Ahead, he saw a rest stop and small building selling ice-cream and drinks for the tourists. Without too much thought, he guided his old bike into the small lay-by car park and wheeled it into the shade. It had after all been a tiring day.

Even this late, he was surprised to see a few tourists sat about outside still, all enjoying the ubiquitous view of the old snow-capped volcano.

Isao went to the kiosk and bought himself a cold Shikuwasa juice before finding a table away from the others. Pulling out his sketch book, he sat there and sipped gratefully at the sharp, tangy drink while leafing through what he had done so far.

He quite liked some of the charcoal sketches he'd done earlier in the day, from below the Yama Shrine up the mountain - they still needed something though. He had hoped that lower down might provide a more promising view, but with the light starting to fade, he doubted that he'd find it today.

With a little shrug, he sat back to enjoy his drink, calculating how long it would take for him to reach the camp site on the lake shore.

Bottle poised mid-way to his mouth, Isao saw and knew in an instant that he had found what he had been searching for.

Before him, silhouetted against the approaching dusk and peeping almost coquettishly around the shoulder of the hillside, Mount Fuji stood framed, perfectly.

His eyes flitted across every aspect of the scene as his hands fumbled for his charcoal sticks and sketch book, capturing the image in swiping strokes of decisive action.

In a matter of a minute, he had it all down and simply marvelled at the bold contrasts of solid middle-ground. Its intricacies of a tree-lined horizon rising to the right, mirrored the flanks of Fuji itself in a way that was pure. Soft-hued clouds held the upper left area nicely. Below them, there was the visually leading line of a bridge over the gorge, perfectly drawing the observer's eye back upwards and into the image again.

Centrally though, dominating the foreground were twin poles of uncompromising steel, one topped by a street lamp and the other bearing traffic lights to warn motorists of any pedestrians crossing.

They along with the suspension bridge were for Isao a symbol of modern times and therefore would differentiate his image from the thousands of copies made since Hokusai.

Finally taking that delayed gulp of his drink, he smiled and nodded to the spirits of good fortune who had led him to this spot.

Today has been a good day.
 
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Wow @MeanElf I didn't know my pictures had such a story behind them. All I thought of was the sky looked nice behind the traffic light!..;):gtpflag: I was wondering what your comment about the picture was yesterday.

You have a very good imagination from a traffic light scenario .. I will have to look deeper in to my pictures. I wouldn't be able to compete as I am not great at literature unlike mr. secret novelist elf..Look forward to your next chapter 👍
 
This time it's the turn of the Keep on the Loch picture by @sebmugi

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The Dude had his rug, which he'd said 'tied the room together.' Jase on the other hand had a picture.

It had been there when he'd moved into the little flat, hung up above the battered old cooker and looking equally worse for wear. Even with the patina of food grease though, its chipped frame and backdrop of hideous 70s style wallpaper, it still held its own: like the Dude said, it tied the room together.

Jase didn't even know where the picture had been taken of; other than it was a keep out on some Scottish Loch. It vaguely reminded him of the McLeod Clan home in Highlander. He'd always intended to ask the landlord about it, but so far had never remembered to do so.

Anyway, none of that mattered, as to him it was the atmosphere it evoked that mattered. It could have been a picture of anywhere, and sometimes his imagination let that be the case.

To him, the stark nobility of the place, with that God's finger of pale sunlight catching the keep in soft relief; shrouded as much in mist and distant rain as it was mystery, it drew his attention every time. When cooking, or even boiling the kettle, he often found he had lost time in its depths, just wondering what lay beyond those veils of rain; or what was going on inside the keep.

One thing that was certain though, it made living in the dingy flat bearable. The other thing he knew for sure, was that the picture would be going with him when he left.
 
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This time one from @RL_23 (EDITED so that image shows)

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I can do one from your latest scenery pics good sir...brief, but to the point.

Observed by no one out in the wilderness, except perhaps an Owl, maybe a Fox or even a twitchy Squirrel; the night sky split under the forces of nature.

The forest was no stranger to such displays - lightning of course brought fire and cleansing - everything that lived there was used to that. This time though, it was different. Out of that brief maelstrom, came nothing except a small figure from nowhere...dropping from the epicentre half a mile above the ground.

It had no time to wail or react, just fall.

No one would know of its fate, of course, not out here in the deep wilds. It would probably be a decade or two before anyone found the broken and inexplicable metal man buried deep in the loam.
 
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Inspired by DC picture of the modern castle I took. (Part I)

5.53 a.m A knock at the bedroom door by the morning staff. This was the 3rd time the knock had been made. Something important was happening today. The King had to be up early.

In the four poster grand bed wrapped up in sheets laid out half unconscious was the King. The King of Drive Club. Or as he was better known to his staff without him knowing 'MeanElf' due to his Elf shape looks and tight nature even though he was the richest person in England.

It had been a long long night, Best local West Country Whisky, Ales and fine food had been flowing all evening in his Castle kingdom.

He was secretly addicted to DriveClub especially wanting to become an 'Elite' Top driver and also the photo mode of replays. He hadn't told any of his Royal Family members or his staff in waiting. His PS4 and headphones were hidden in his secret changing area of his bedroom where no one was allowed. This would be used every evening until early hours with out anyone knowing.

A loud thump and knock at the big wooden bedroom door again. 6.00 a.m What was so urgent he thought?

Again no movement or sound apart from a long loud snore with his hand slowly coming to life with a DS4 controller still in it.

The sound of the Drive Club main theme playing in the background with a light from the TV shining through to the dusky dusty bedroom. Had the Alcohol and DriveClub challenges taken its toll finally?

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I will stop there as I have run out of ideas to carry on. Meanelf or anyone feel free to carry the story on...I think it would be good for a different ending mine wasn't going to end well :lol: and I didn't want to make it a massive horror :mad::mad:bringing in @GameOver77 haunted pics which was originally planned..so over to anyone.......:gtpflag:
 
Haunted House Of Norway

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Sorry that this one took a while @GameOver77 but one thing and another. It's also a bit longer than the rest...


Shifting down a gear, Körbel tucked the Vuhl tight into the corner; his eyes fixed on the road ahead, tracking an optimal line through its apex for a smooth and fast exit.

It was only his third time along the race route today, but he was pleased with how it all felt to him. Tomorrow would be the actual race day, which left him several more hours still to thoroughly learn all of the intricacies and tricky spots. Of course, it was still a normally functioning road at the moment, with traffic and coaches. It wouldn't be until sometime after midnight that the race organisers would begin shutting it off to the rest of the world. Luckily, that traffic had been light all day.

Even though he had driven competitively in similar conditions before, mostly in the Swiss Alps, Körbel had never actually raced in Norway, or been near Hurrungane in the Jotunheimen National Park. Whilst the conditions were likely to be similar; snow and ice being after all, just snow and ice - the roads themselves would be quite different. People generally made that mistake; assuming that other countries did things the same way as they did at home - so the roads in the way they were made and laid out would not be the same here. He had accorded himself therefore tha luxury of arriving at least two days beforehand, so having the opportunity to get a proper feel for the place first.

After the corner, there would be a snaking descent into a tunnel, after which the finish line would be further up the hill.

The racers' hotel was nearby there, a place where doubtless their friendly rivalries would continue with the usual banter throughout the evening meal. The organisers of course encouraged this. After all, the yearly series of events was not some sponsor-heavy season for gentlemen racers and the top racing teams. This was a smaller league, break-out attempt to meld street cars into a tarmac rally style of race...and of course that needed funding. Unobtrusive film crew members covered the races and of course the pre-race drama, as well as the post-race social dramas. It was not the kind of documenting that Körbel really approved of, but at least they didn't insist that he bathe in a tub of spiders as a forfeit for losing. If it ever went that far, this reality-TV approach, he'd look for another way to race.

Leaving the gloom of the tunnel, he opened the Vuhl's throttle a little before the hill had a chance to rob him of his momentum. He'd need to ease off after the Årdal turning though, as there were a few buildings scattered along this stretch; perhaps originally a village, as it had a big old church. He was looking forward to gunning his engine tomorrow though, and roaring up this home straight, weaving in and out of the competition in a last bid for the finish line.

From behind a tall stand of trees, the church spire came into view, then beyond it, a big, old house. Körbel frowned, not having noticed it before now, which was odd; it wasn't as if the thing was a small hut possibly missed the first few times. There it stood though, imposing and dominating in its coat of white painted wood, full of peaks and carved balconies like so many of them around the area - yet unalike.

Attention possibly drawn too long by the pale house, he didn't see the old woman pulling her shopping cart across the road.

Quick reflexes took over and he managed to get his car past her without and harm; but he knew in the prescient way that drivers have, that his trajectory was wrong.

Time felt slow, allowing him to rationalise all options available in a suspended moment...yet he saw no clear route that would get him through safely. Instinctively, he swung his car back out into the road, just clipping the kerb to his right and feeling the whole go into a broadside drift.

Swinging hard on the wheel, he turned tighter and the back came around; he felt the Vuhl begin to tip under the G-force.

Sound caught up with him then, penetrating the bubble as tyres squealed and flexed.

The car jarred him as his left wheels dropped back to the road and he coasted to a stop.

Echoing in his head, the tyre scream faded. He saw that he was facing back down the hill, on the opposite side of the road, that the old woman was safe and staring at him with shock.

Körbel looked in his rear-view to see if any cars were going to hit him - none were in sight.

By degrees, he relaxed his tight grip on the wheel, un-cricked his neck and let out a great whoosh of in-held breath.

Wordlessly, he gestured back at where the house stood, not sure what he was trying to convey to the woman he'd almost hit. His hands stopped waving about though, as where he was looking, nothing stood.

He swivelled about fully in the car and stared, eyes searching all over the hillside in an increasing panic: the house was nowhere to be seen.

Unsteadily, he got out of the car, the sounds of his door opening and booted foot on the gritty road sounding very loud after the tyre squeal.

Carefully, he went over to the woman and helped her wordlessly across the road before slumping down, legs no longer capable of supporting him.

The woman's shock, now faded as she looked up the hill to where Körbel had been looking and slowly her expression shifted to a knowing look, tinged with sympathy.


All along the dim corridor where creaking came from nowhere and everywhere, rows of pictures hung. Each one was a portrait of an individual, sometimes a couple. Most were faded and all had the same house in the background.

Three new pictures appeared, their lines and colours crisp, fresh by comparison.

The first was pale, the house looking bold yet insubstantial and pale. In the foreground, a car stood at an angle. Like any picture, it was a moment in time.

Underneath it, stood the second, a bold splash of blues and seared whites like a psychic imprint.

Under that, the third. That one was all red and black, no other tones, like a photograph seen in the darkroom.

The house continued to groan and creak, vibrating to the whistle of wind outside...perhaps.
 
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Brilliant @MeanElf just brilliant, hope you had as much writing it as i did reading the story :D :cheers: 👍
Thanks - to be honest, horror isn't really my thing, so I was a bit lost - hence why it rambled on a bit longer than usual.

Glad you enjoyed it, and yes, I did have fun writing it too. I even found the origin of the name of the town where I live because of this - bloody Vikings! :D
 
@MeanElf Are you sure you are not a secret fiction novelist- If not you should write a book of short stories. Very descriptive and great Literacy skills 👍
Well, I wouldn't be very good at being a secret novelist if I told you now, would I? ;) Let's just say that I had some experience in the area - nevertheless, your kind words are very much appreciated 👍
 
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Image: courtesy of @RL_23


Turning up the dial, Aleck placed the camping lantern down carefully in the long grass at his feet. Stepping back, he let out the breath he'd unconsciously been holding in.

Now the forest glade was lit up, he didn't feel so vulnerable or alone out here.

This was probably because the glade wasn't just an average clearing, but a forest shrine with its haphazard array of mini altars to the various spirits that ruled locally.

He had learned all of their names earlier today, when as part of a tour group he'd stood here in the sunlight, on the same spot, soaking up the atmosphere of peace where butterflies and birds danced.

Now though, it was a very different place: isolated, dark and quite menacing under the steady background of weird echoes and night noises.

He drew a few short breaths to regain focus. This sort of place shouldn't faze him; after all, Aleck was a sensitive, one who felt the hidden spirits of the world around him at all times. He'd sensed their presence today, at this place.

He liked to think he had an affinity for the ancient dwellers of the Earth - but the ones he knew, were those of the woodlands and quiet places back in England, specifically the dark places in Cornwall.

Here, in Japan where he was working as a teacher - he wasn't quite so sure of himself, hence his sudden trepidation.

A spirit, is a spirit...surely... That was the way he'd rationalised it during the climb uphill from his car on the road, and he felt comforted by that logic.

Yama-biko was the one probably responsible for the sporadic, knocking echoes. Kodama too might be here, watching him from the trees. Yobuko and Yōsei would be the rest, the spirits and fairies of the mountain and woodland places.

Naming them like this helped calm Aleck further. It would also make for some good tales to tell back home, something to impress the others of his group.

With a smile at that thought, he turned full circle, eyes closed to better feel and so take in the moment fully. Opening them, he stopped dead.

All across the glade behind where he'd been stood, floated a cloud of glowing wisps. As one they darted for cover in all directions; below them, he heard a susurrus of scampering, feet small amongst the tall grass - becoming a pattering as they went up the tree boles.

Still frozen, Aleck's smile wavered, then strengthened. Those idiots back home will love this!

From out of the darkness beyond his lamp's reach, a large form loomed and in a flow, moved right at him, stopping inches away from his face.

Aleck's smile froze completely, he was a rabbit in the glare of an oncoming car.

For several long seconds, the big head of the dragon fixed him with its eyes. He could feel the ancient intelligence behind them weighing up his life and soul and he just knew that it didn't like what it saw.

Amongst all of the emotions and sensations raging throughout him, each one screaming for attention, the one that got through was the warm flood of release down his leg as he pissed himself.

Searing lightning flashed broad across the scene, and Aleck ran with a squeal, just as the first waves of torrential rain hit.

***​

Zennyo Ryūō watched the running interloper ineffectually crashing his way through the trees and smiled her own smile of satisfaction before withdrawing again to her place between the worlds.
 
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