to be so lonely • hs

three

"Hold that pose," I instructed my model, snapping a few shots from different angles as she remained leaning over a stool, her elbow against the seat as her hand acted as a rest for her chin. "Perfect." I then allowed her to change positions.

We were in an abandoned home about an hour out from the city, my second photoshoot of the weekend— and it was only Saturday evening.

"Do you think you can climb up there?" I questioned, eyeing the beam along what used to be a roof, but now seemed to be bits and pieces of leftover ceiling, a few beams, and plenty of gaps that lead directly outside.

The beam above us ran directly under one of the gaps, and might have made for a really great photo. I imagined her lying against it, her arms and legs draping out over the beam, and the sky above her, as I took the picture right under.

"Is it safe?" Poppy asked. It was a valid question.

I tapped my finger against my chin, thinking of a way to test the beams stability, then climbed on top of the stool and reached up to grab onto the beam. I looked down at her and shrugged, then slowly lifted both of my feet and held onto the wood to test if it would hold my weight as I pulled down. It was risky, but with the stool under me, had it fallen, I would have been fine. Luckily, it seemed to hold up quite nicely, so I set myself back down and climbed off the stool.

"You can sue me if it falls." I laughed, she rolled her eyes.

"The things I do for you."

I helped her by holding down the stool as she stood on top of it, figuring out the best way to climb onto the beam. Once she grabbed hold, I kneeled on both legs on top of the stool to hold her legs until she was able to bring herself up. It was really complicated, and wasn't as easy as it originally seemed to be, but looked absolutely incredible.

Wasting no time, I snapped about 30 photos, asking for very minor variations in her pose, like lifting one foot out further, the position of her arms, and right before she climbed back down, we took a few of her sitting on it.

"You're amazing." I praised, helping her down.

This shoot wasn't commissioned, rather, I was paying Poppy. She was a regular model of mine, and did really well in the more rustic and less-structured shoots I did. She had a really great look: natural red curly hair, quite tall, artistic clothing style. It all worked really well, on top of the fact that she was willing to do just about anything I asked.

We'd worked together about 30 times over the past couple of years, and were pretty good friends at this point. We hung out often, outside of our usual photoshoots, but hadn't in a month or two.

"I think we're almost done here, though I want to try something out first." I stepped over to the window to our left. It was no longer in tact, with a large hole right in the center and broken shards if glass surrounding the floor underneath it. I looked around for an object that would possibly allow me to break off the rest of the glass so the entire window was off.

Luckily, there was a metal pipe from the kitchen electrical lying on the ground a few feet away that would do just the trick.

Carefully, I tapped away at the remaining glass around the edges, then called over Poppy once I finished.

I wanted to get some shots as I stood outside looking into her inside the house. It'd make for some really cool images, and really add on to the creepy, abandoned and rustic feel to the rest of the shoot.

We took those photos for a little shy of an hour,
and I decided I had more than enough to work with at that point. It was always better to be safe than sorry, anyway.