Blog 5: The Mysterious Mr. X

"A man walks into a bar, orders a sloe gin fizz, picks a dark booth in the corner, and sits down.

After making sure there were no water marks on the table, he pulls out a file, opens it up, and slowly goes through each photo one by one. He takes takes a sip of his slow gin fizz, looks at it funny, and doesn't finish it.

Finally he places the pictures neatly back into the file and leaves the bar. Several moments later, the bartender hears a gunshot. "

Afraid to burst through the doors to see what happened, Bart the bartender, peered out the front window. There he stood, photos scattered at his feet, staring at the body.

The stranger reached down to touch the face of his victim and Bart reached for the phone. He paused has he saw the man pull the body to him and begin shake as he wept. Bart rushed out the door instead.

"I didn't know it was him. I didn't know," the stranger said gazing up at the wrinkled bartender who just moments ago served him a drink with a grin. Now his face was horrified to see the pale lifeless body laying on the rain-soaked ground.

"I thought he was going to rob me. I thought he. . .," he said yet again. "All he wanted was my photos. All he wanted was to see my work."

"We have to call someone. We have to get help," Bart said gently, touching his shoulder. "I'm going inside to make the call."

With that he left and entered the bar. Soon, sirens roared near the scene.

The stranger began telling the story to the officers as he sat on the curb, head in his hands.

"I knew him. I taught him. He was my best student," he said choking as he spoke. "I used to be good, but I knew he was better. I knew he had talent from the start. I was all washed up. I had lost my eye for the art. He had it, yep, he had it all."

"After he made it on his own, I quit shooting. I put the camera away. I didn't need anything more than to see his work. He called several times trying to get me to take it up again, to teach and shoot. I refused, but he continued to try."

"I asked him to leave me alone. I was done, I told him. I told him over and over, but he kept encouraging me, just as I did him all those years ago."

"I finally caved. I tried again and I think I did my best work. I think I found that inspiration again. The student teaching the teacher, that's what happened."

"I agreed to show him my photos. We were to meet here," he said waving his hand toward the bar. "He was going to critique me. He was going to lead me."

"He was late. I decided just to leave," he added. "Then when I came out I felt someone tug at my folder, before I knew it, I had fired the shot. I had killed my inspiration. He only wanted to see my work. He only wanted. . . "