The Photographer

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic


Warm breath swirled around his mouth and ears, visible due to the cold temperature of the underground. He exhaled a breath, unknowingly held. The sound of the shutter confirmed he had successfully stopped time. He had caught the past, a bug in amber, soon to be plastered on a wall like a display of dead moths. 

The silhouette of the man was what drew him in. Posed perfectly to suggest flight, similar to a dancer, or a flamingo shrouded in shadow. The man was a wingless fay captured just before taking flight. 

The photographer watched as the man boarded the train, and watched as it took him, swallowed him up. Later he would revisit that moment in the dull glow of orange light; he would watch it appear once more before him aided by sloshing chemicals. With the care of an entomologist hanging up a specimen for display, he would treat the image to cast a faded appearance. 

That moment will soon be his, a fraction of time, a piece of life preserved with formaldehyde. 

 


Submitted: August 27, 2019

© Copyright 2022 LizCraig. All rights reserved.

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Comments

Archia

What a great story. I love how you described the photographer capturing this moment; everything about it seemed so detailed and beautiful. This was so great to read.

Fri, December 13th, 2019 11:39pm

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