Surreal Tension at the Crimson Pool

In the style of Guy Bourdin.   An empty vintage swimming pool lined with glossy  crimson tiles at dusk. A red metal chair lies  overturned on the wet poolside. A pair of white  heeled sandals placed neatly at the pool's edge  — as if their owner simply stepped out of existence.  No figure visible.  Only her shadow stretches across the still water,  distorted, elongated, reaching toward something  we cannot see. The sky bleeds deep magenta and  vermillion into the reflection.   High color saturation. Surreal tension.  A narrative frozen mid-sentence.  Something just happened. Or is about to.