《The PHOTOGRAPHER》


 The Photographer

    The Photographer


    ¡°Smile,¡± I said as I held up the camera to her puffy eyes. Her lips curled outwards in a small grimace. She tried, oh how she tried. I took the photo, the flash of light cracking like a whip of fire through the dark. The buzzing of the camera bled through the silence. I wafted the picture, letting the ink dry. I was hopeful, so hopeful. But as I peered at the black square bleeding into life, I found disappointment sting my heart.


    ¡°Try again,¡± I said, trying to hide my frustration. ¡°But this time, put a little soul into it.¡± I leant down to her on the gurney. ¡°You said I make you happy? When I asked you, that¡¯s what you said?¡± I felt my eyes beginning to sting with pain. ¡°You weren¡¯t lying to me, where you?¡±


    Her head moved side to side wearily, those puffy eyes begging me to believe her. I did. I cracked a grin.


    ¡°Good,¡± I said. ¡°Now, try again.¡± I raised the camera, and her lips curled into a bloodied sneer. ¡°That¡¯s better.¡±


    The camera clicked once more, and I waited for the ink to settle. Waited those precious moments to see my work. To see my artistry come to life.


    I smiled.


    ¡°Beautiful,¡± I said, looking at the photo. ¡°I knew you had it in you!¡± I laughed, moving to the pinboard where I kept the others - Some older, some younger. Their faces were grey, swollen. Not like hers. She had smiled at me. A refreshing grace of sunlight broke through the grey sky. She was my totem of joy, my muse. I pinned it up above the others and stood back, letting out a satisfied sigh. I turn to her once more. She was crying again. I didn¡¯t like it when she cried. It made me feel sad, and I don¡¯t like feeling sad.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    I moved to her, picking up the joke book. A lot of the pages were stuck together from spillages, and I read her some of my best jokes. The smile was tucked away. She was making me work for it.


    ¡°I want you to smile,¡± I said to her. ¡°You¡¯re so beautiful when you smile!¡±


    ¡°Let me go¡­¡± she whispered in that dark place. Her hands tried to reach out to me. To touch me? To hold me? I wanted to feel her love so badly, but last time, I remembered last time. She had tried to run, to break my camera. I couldn¡¯t risk that again.


    I used to use rope, but the red burns didn¡¯t make for a good photo. Tie wraps worked well, but they made their arms swell like waterlogged plums. So I used nails. They were simple and could be hidden from the camera shot easily.


    ¡°I will when you give me another smile,¡± I said. ¡°Let¡¯s try again.¡± I read out the best joke I had. The one about the dog and the hat. That one always worked. It always got them smiling. I hit the punch line, and I waited for the laughter to come.


    But only silence met my ears.


    Disappointed, I put the joke book down. I picked up the camera once more and took the photo. It buzzed, and the polaroid came out again. I wafted it in my hands, and there it was - the smile I had been waiting for. It sat there in stillness and serenity.


    ¡°That wasn¡¯t hard, was it?¡± I said, the sight of her slacked jaw and her swollen tongue meeting my eye. It was the best part of the creation process. Refreshing, and tantalising. I pinned it up with the rest of them, and I cracked a wide grin of my own. ¡°That¡¯s my favourite one yet,¡± I said, feeling refreshed. ¡°A few more, and I¡¯ll have the greatest collection ever.¡±