Photographs 

Waking up in the morning, breathing in the fresh musty, chemical infused air that surrounds me after a night long affair with the pictures hung on strands of thread in the beautiful red dark room.

I run my eyes slowly over each and every photograph. Oh, the immeasurable happiness, the joy of a smile or the ache of the occasional tear drop frozen in time.

As the negatives change from monochrome to the wondrous colors of the spectrum – I stand there mesmerized like a child at the airport watching a plane take off.

A 10 x 10 room never felt more spacious. Each corner wrapped in frames that takes life in different dimensions. A story to tell, a story to remember.

Dodging and burning the photographs, I blink.

BANG! A hidious, unethical knock.

I squint, the red dark room is suddenly full of cheap florescent lights. I feel like an abandoned baby at a solemn, monotonous hospital nursery.

The strands of thread that once hung the slices of life; fades to white and slowly to nothingness. My 10 x 10 room now seems smaller than a coffin.

My eyes, red and heavy from lack of a good night sleep. The four corners have disappeared into large walls of plaster. The room smells different too – it feels clean, without any tales to tell.

Mouth stiched like an ancient mummy doomed to rot, I want to scream as I watch the photographs being sweeped away by the wind. Outside the window where they don’t belong, as I lie in the hospital cot, hooked up to machines that now, somehow keep me alive.