Little did they know when the photographer took their picture that they would find themselves trapped in a painting. The day started like any other, the band setting themselves up at the pier to welcome passengers arriving on the morning steamboat from downriver.
“Mind if I capture this moment?” the photographer had asked, setting up his equipment across from them.
“Not at all,” Cornelius had replied, and told his friends which song to play next.
They’d been in daguerreotypes before. The photographer’s camera looked different than usual. Smaller, and shiny, like silver. He was just holding it, too. No tripod. Cornelius stopped playing for a moment and called across to him.
“You want us to hold still a spell? Make sure it comes out okay?”
“No need,” he’d replied, lifting the camera to his face. There was a flash.
In an instant the band were gone. The photographer packed up his equipment, then lifted a small black cube to his mouth.
“Target seventeen acquired. Moving on.”
This piece of flash fiction was in response to a prompt from Mondays Finish the Story. Check it out if you fancy trying something similar.