He sees me through his photo lens. Watches me as I walk and talk. Though he understands nothing of what I am. Of what I can do. But it amuses me to have caught his eye. What am I to him? A macabric object of his creativity. Telescopic microscope thinks it can capture me. Imprint taboo images that enhance his talent. Silly fool. For I control what is revealed in his little black and white negative world. He thinks he has found a goldmine. A world beyond this one, where none have ever ventured. As the shutter begins to click faster, his confusion grows. Dead little things appear, waving maggot gnawed hands. His head shakes. He must be tired. This cannot be real. But what of the wicked twin boys before him, giggling death rotted laughs? His hands shake, he fights to keep the camera steady. Adams apple bobs as he gulps deeply. I peek into his soul with that inhaled breath. Then his nose begins to bleed. I lick the liquid off of his chin, and he jumps back in fright. Reality shivers before him. Barbed wire curls into his skin, binding his hand onto the photo lens. His shrieks fill the air, as he tugs to escape the quills. Flesh chunking off, splattering everywhere. I bite down on his screaming lips. Scissoring them off, then spitting them out. It gives me such great pleasure, to hear his muffled gurgles. He collapses upon the floor, head splitting wide open. All the memories stored within, spill out one after another. The walls around him become painted, from all that he has inside. I create the perfect masterpiece, one he never could have imagined. When they find him sometime after, it is he who will have become the subject, carbon copied. The photographer; the photographed. A fitting end for those, who stumble upon what they should’ve left alone.
“Unseen Photos” Written by ©®™ Atusha Avarus
