A man and a woman having a picnic

A simple scene, written in several different styles.

ROMANCE

To anyone else, the blossoms on the cherry trees that lined the edge of the freshly mowed field would have stolen the show. They were at their peak, petals spread as wide as they could, inviting pollination from the first bee or bird that would visit. Floating through the air was their intoxicating scent, and the soft breeze moved the leaves just enough to create a background of rustling foliage white noise that added to the sense of privacy elicited by the sentimental space he found himself in. 

To anyone else, the cherry trees would steal the show. But nobody wasn’t sitting on a purple cotton tablecloth that was laid over the grassy ground. That cloth had been laid there by a woman whose eyes were now wider than the blossoms, and who’s scent forced the flowers out of the air. The mid-day sun squeezed his face into a squint as he moved his gaze slowly from her bare feet, up to her crossed ankle, and further up her legs. The lower four buttons on her blouse were undone, and her flat stomach glowed as the beaming light reflected off of its sweaty sweaty surface.

There was no excuse to hesitate, no purpose in delay. She had prepared a simple meal for the two of them, but eating was not on the top of either of their minds. He moved up onto his knees, his body now putting hers into shadow. Her face, still in the sun, was surrounded in a halo of gold as her blond hair soaked up the rays. She moved her hand to her brow so she could safely open her eyes wider to take in his full form. As he removed his shirt, she uncrossed her ankles.

ACTION/ADVENTURE

Fields were ideal for a lot of things, including picnics. She knew he would oblige after she suggested it might just be more than a meal. But it wasn’t the field, the blooming trees or delightful fresh cut smell of grass that drew her to this location, it was the line of sight.

The funny thing about securing an asset is even when you are this close to the ask, you can never relax. She had a regular set of tails that might pick her up out of curiosity, even when she wasn’t on mission. Those were easy to spot and deal with. In  this case, the man in front of her was an unknown, but he had something she needed. He was an average man of average height, who even though she told him where they were going still wore his office shoes, and this made her uneasy. Either he wasn’t as intelligent as she hoped, or he wasn’t careful.

She removed her tan and purple canvas pack one arm at a time, moving at the type of seductive pace that  earned her this rendezvous in the first place. She reached into the bag without breaking eye contact and her hand emerged with two sandwiches wrapped in foil. One she kept, the other she handed to him, along with a note that she hoped he would accept so she didn’t have to do something she didn’t want to do.

SCIENCE FICTION

It was true, the man did want to enjoy the fresh apples that were barely ripened on the edge of the grassy field, but not these apples. He wanted to sample the apples from his childhood, complete with small brown circles and the dry coarse skin from maturing in the direct sun. The MechFruit were pure and clean in flavor, but completely absent of real taste that could only come from imperfection. The same was true for people.

Her lips and teeth were bent to form one of the many perfect smiles she had selected from the PersaMag at the Expression Salon she often visited. She spoke with her Facial Stylist about going on a picnic, and selected an arrangement of expressions that would convey all the possible necessary emotions to make the day one to remember. Her eyes opened on the three settings, and he met her with a look of concern. And then he began to cry.

She was unaware that this was a possible picnic emotion and was not prepared. Her face for the first time since they had met looked warped and wrinkled in a truly imperfect human way. Her skin was less taught as it had not been molded and pulled to show sadness and concern, emotions rarely necessary for someone in her strataclass. He looked at her, with only joy in his face, because finally he was seeing the real her.

HORROR

The last time she ran though this field, it was fresh and alive. She longed for those days, before the curse that had laid waste to this land. The apples had all fallen from the trees and were rotting where they sat, riddled with yellow jackets and maggots. He came up behind her, limping, using every last bit of energy to keep pace. 

She knew the pack of animals they once called friends were not far behind, and she also knew she would not survive this alone. As he caught up to her, she grabbed his arm and pulled him forcibly to the ground, surveying the tree line behind him for any activity. Seeing none, she motioned to him to stay low, and keep quiet.

She reached into her back pocket and pulled out an unopened granola bar she palmed while making their way out of town. She opened it and broke it in half, offering half to him. He received it with desperation and ate the whole thing in one bite. He smiled at her, and in a brief moment of weakness, she smiled back. Before the event, this would have been a nice moment, but right now even a smile meant her guard was down, and she couldn’t have that.

HUMOR

With a whipping sound he uncoiled the blanket he carefully packed for this very special occasion. He packed it so carefully, that when he was leaving he very carefully grabbed the wrong one. Had he known the fabric on which he was going to lay out this romantic feast had a print image of his dead dog's head in it, he probably would have just ate in the grass. 

She never thought a dog could be romantic, and as it turns out, she was right. She laughed as a courtesy, not out of any genuine humor she saw in the moment. As she regained the poise she never lost, the man in front of her started to tear up, while never breaking a smile. It was the oddest expression she had ever seen on a grown man, especially one who was courting her. 

He reached into the large shopping bag he stole from the Circle K and pulled out a carrot cake that read “You’re the icing on my cake”. He moved forward to display it in the sunlight, and thanks to a combination of nerves and last night's whiskey the dessert slid out of his hands and landed, icing side down, straight on her blouse. Turns out, she was the one with the icing on her.