30/11/2022 - The Faceless Photographer
Reading time: 2 min
Photo Courtesy of Beatrice Manzini
There’s a faceless photographer following me everywhere. He has fabric over his skull and long, scrawny fingers covered in rings. He takes pictures of my life, of whatever I want to remember, but never looks at them. He just takes the picture and waits for the next memorable moment.
I rely on him for happy memories, as bad memories tend to stick in my mind without the need for photographs, and without noticing my expectations of the photographer have grown out of control.
I call him because I miss my wife, and I want to revive our wedding. I expect to see our smiling faces, her beautiful dress, our ecstatic families and friends, but also something more. I expect to hear the music, the laughter, and the cracking noises of fireworks. I expect to smell the perfume of my wife, the rich scent of the dinner courses, the acidic prosecco spilt on my shirt. I expect to taste the cream on the cake, the champagne, the lips of my beloved spouse. I expect to feel the texture of her skin, the silk in her dress, the cold glass between my fingers, the wet tears of joy I know were in our eyes.
I ask the photographer all of this, and he nods, understanding, showing me the screen on the back of his camera.
I can’t feel my wife’s skin. I can’t taste her lips. I can’t smell her perfume. I can’t hear her laughter. But, at the very least, I thought I could see her smile.
Instead, each and every picture the photographer shows me is nothing more than a piece of fabric, as if the cloth over his head was also covering the camera’s lens.
“Why?” I ask in desperation, scrolling as quickly as I can. “You were supposed to take pictures. You were supposed to help me remember!”
But the photographer shakes his head, admonishing me.
“You should have been present,” he says, and with these words, he disappears.
About this story
Prompt: the picture was my prompt.
Notes on the challenge
Each and every story published here has been written, reviewed, polished and published in less than 90 minutes. Which means you’re going to find spelling mistakes, ugly sentences and weird structures. I still hope you’ll enjoy them!
