It will be near the mountains--they're really not mountains, but rather hills--and you will know you've reached the right spot when the hills are to your left and to your right is a full nothing of nothing as far as you can see.
You will feel both calm and tense; your shoulders will drop and your jaws will clench. She will be there. She will be there, where you left her. She will be there, near the fence, where you left what's left of her: the photograph.
You will wish you had never taken the photograph, but you will wish even more that you could see her without having to look at the deteriorating photograph. You will wish that you could see her in your head, or, better still, that you could see her real and pink flesh as you did that day.
You will know that if you were to carry the photograph, you would be discovered, so you will refrain. You will let it stay there, where it is safe, out there in the nothing.
Things are always safe in the nothing; they lack connection to any something and they cannot be compared to other actions. In the nothing, there is not a right and there is a not a wrong, and that is why you have gone there and why you will return again and again.
Your refrain is the click of covert camera-shot and the warm spill of blood and the drain of color down to pale blue. You will sing it more and more and you will bring their photographs to the nothing to add to the composition. You will not bring them there--no. You will not contaminate this place with such physical things.
If you should suspect others have found the gallery of nothing, you will abandon it forever. You will not return. You cannot return. The song will be over but you will begin a new one, because it it what you love.
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Sorry to be so morbid. This is a contribution to Flickr Fiction Friday based on the photo shown above which was posted by Flickr user, rougerouge. Thanks!
I became hip to this game through the talented Gurrier. Other participants are Teaandcakes, aquafortis, Elimare, and Chris.
2 comments:
No apologies necessary a good start. I like the idea of a gallery of nothing, it's got hooks.
I like this part - well, it's really, really creepy:
"Your refrain is the click of covert camera-shot and the warm spill of blood and the drain of color down to pale blue."
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