From Frame to Tale: Crafting a Short Story Inspired by a Photograph

The Criminal That Killed Me- Written by Kenneth Tonos

A man’s view of himself through a mural at a young age, feeling helpless—trapped by only his own choices, as if staring at what was once a family business. That boy was me. The family business started in 1922, located on a half-torn-down street, ravaged by gangs and mobs that ran from Newark to Southampton, transporting alcohol and snuff. The building was old and in need of significant repairs, but my parents didn’t have enough money.

As we struggled to make a living from that old building, my parents received an offer from a man named Frank Costello. He was a mafia boss from Italy, interested in the building because directly beneath it was his speakeasy.

Frank’s proposal was simple: he would buy our building and hire my parents to manage the speakeasy in the basement. He explained that the building would be used to store alcohol and other illegal goods. When my parents sold the building to Mr. Frank, our lives changed forever. We were assigned two guards, who shadowed our every move. I felt important in a society that made me uncomfortable, knowing deep down that my future was doomed, and I longed to escape.

One night, my parents went to work at the speakeasy, leaving me at home with the two guards. Suddenly, the door slammed open, and the guards fired their weapons at whoever was on the other side. The problem was, no one was there, and the bullets tore through the walls, down the hallway, creating a loud explosion moments later.

The explosion occurred because a power transformer was hit by the bullets, causing a chain reaction. The surrounding building went up in flames, and the apartment I was in caught fire. The building that exploded was our old furniture store, which had been storing highly flammable drugs and alcohol. Directly beneath it was the speakeasy. Everyone inside the speakeasy perished. My life was ruined in an instant, but it was only just beginning.

The next day, I went to church to plan my parents' funeral. As I stood there, a man in dark clothing approached me and asked, "Is your name ?" I said yes, and he instructed me to meet him at a specific location: #####. When I arrived, I was greeted by a lawyer who informed me that not only had I inherited my parents’ wealth, but also Mr. Frank’s fortune, for he was my grandfather. Now, I controlled his empire and wealth. I was speechless, overwhelmed by the realization that my life was now marked. People would want to kill me.

As I walked home, a man followed me, leading me down the wrong alley where three men surrounded me. Three gunshots rang out. A loud crash echoed in my room, and my heart raced. My eyes opened, and I found myself lying on the floor. On the wall above me, there was a mural. At the bottom of the mural, it read “1922” and featured a large couch. As I floated upward into space, I could see my lifeless body on the floor below.