Writing Prompt: Thirteen hundred images waited to be identified.

Morning all. I am awake and ready to go today. I had a good night’s sleep and I am going to take advantage of it. Today my coffee will be an enjoyment rather than a necessity. So since I’m awake, lets go ahead and get into the morning writing prompt shall we? Fingers poised above keyboards or gripping pens? Wonderful, let those timers go. I’ll see you in fifteen.

Oddly enough with a few tweaks I could very much see this as part of a murder mystery series I’ve been noodling around with. I may have to copy it into that file for later reference. The main character is different, but it could be a good scenario to keep in mind.

Thursday, February 25th: Thirteen hundred images waited to be identified.

Thirteen hundred images waited to be identified.  They rested in various files taken from cell phones and security cameras.  There were digital camera memory cards and to top it off, there was even a box of Polaroids.  The event was considered to be The event of the season.  Anyone who was anyone was there in at least some capacity. 

‘And anyone who wanted to be someone or merely ogle the someone’s was there as well,” Tom signed.  He leaned back in his chair and ran his hand through his hair making it stand up on end.  As his nerves were jumping he figured his outsides matched his insides.  Remembering there were likely to still be reporters roaming around, he finger combed it flat again.

He doubted anyone would come down into his dungeon, but the department was looking bad enough at the moment after the events of the past few weeks, he didn’t need to potentially add ot it.

Everyone was calling it The Event.  Tom heard the name so many times that he couldn’t actually remember the official original name of it any more.  He knew there was some sort of charity sponsor, but before everything spiraled out of control, it wasn’t really on his radar.  He remembered Sam complaining about having to work an extra shift of security detail, but that was all.  If it hadn’t been for his roommate’s involvement, it was doubtful he would have even realized The Event was taking place.

“Of course now no one will forget it,” He wondered if the charity that sponsored the event in the first place was attempting to edge out of view to avoid culpability or if they had simply been forgotten as an unimportant detail.

Whatever the charity, there were three tiers to actual involvement.  There was the ballroom, or what Tom thought of as the High Table, where the really important celebrities gathered to sip the finest of champagne and nibble at haute cuisine wile they were being photographed wearing Haute Couture.  Tom found it a waste of good food as the food was merely a prop and was rarely consumed. 

The second tier were the up and coming celebrities, the consistently B level and those who were on their way p, but hadn’t quite yet made it to the A list tier yet.

The third tier were those who were either involved with the high and mighty or who wanted to be.  Assistants who were dressed up and told to be on the lookout for those who could be potentially useful.  Celebrity stylists and designers were there as well.  The bulk of the people on this level were models hoping to make it big anf the photographers who weren’t tapped to take on the upper two tiers.

Despite not being invited, there was an unofficial fourth tier.  These people gathered outside and clogged the streets.  Some came to catch glimpses of their idols. Some came to protest.  The protestors were carrying placards and were mostly harmless. They yelled and shook their fist but backed down at the sight of authority.  Sam had been one of the authority figured and having been friends with Sam as well as roommates for a number of years, Tom was glad Same had been positioned outside with the protesters when the bombs started to go off.  Several others he knew hadn’t been so lucky. 

Tom turned back to the screen.  His algorithm was working on arranging the images into a cohesive whole.  All of those photos, including the scanned polaroid’s, stitched into one whole, showing him every tier and as much of the surrounds that could be caught on tape.  Once the whole was created and time stamped, he, and several others, would be detailed to go through it frame by frame, looking for anyone or anything out of place.  Hopefully something they found would make sense of that night and the subsequent bombings that followed.  Thus far since The Event there had been one bombing every three days.  If the schedule held, tonight there would be another one.  Thus far no one claimed responsibility, no agenda was announced.  The locations had nothing in common that anyone could identify and in truth the only thing that linked any of these things together were the bombs themselves.

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