Professor Rex Blackwell had a reputation. Ingrid knew it; everyone knew it. He was witty, erudite and charming, and when he focused his attention on a student – admittedly always the pretty ones – for a while they would bask in the full warm light of his regard. But Ingrid, who could have had her choice of any number of her fellow male undergrads, and probably female, didn’t want to wait for Rex Blackwell to come knocking.
Midnight on the final night of the French trip saw only Ingrid and Rex in the bar. And when all their talk of dead poets and writers had ended, she kissed him.
This picture, supplied by the very talented Sandra Crook for this week’s Friday Fictioneers writing group, provided instant inspiration. My problem was cutting down all I wanted to say. The last two lines are too short for my liking, but I’m already seven words over. Friday Fictioneers is where writers from all over the world write about 100 words using a photo as inspiration. Click here to read other people’s and to join in. And please comment below with any suggestions for improvement on mine.