On his sixth birthday, his Grandmother, while putting him to sleep, told the man that commits crimes, “We’re born not knowing that life is so short – and after its over, at the time of death, we’re clear death is forever”
This story, repeated over and over in his mind – like a song, and one day, while in concert with its melody, he walked into a pawn to picked up an old camera // re-entered the streets with his new possession and given the amount paid for it – felt as though he had been paid to take it // the camera was a Hasselblad 1600F type, which, when used, required to be held against the photographers’ stomach and after he got home, he stood in front of a mirror attempting to see inside his eyes through the camera, hoping to find the obvious, as he searched the camera’s images, he couldn’t tell where, in the repetition of dimensions, he lived, “My grandmother was right, the man that commits crimes told himself”, “I am now in the middle – between my death and forever”
Short Stories
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Hi Ish! (I like your username, by the way.)
I enjoyed your piece. It has a beginning, middle, and end without really having any of those things. Our character could have just turned six or he could be a middle aged man. The last line really ties it together, “‘I am now in the middle-between my death and forever.” I think your story begs the question, “Is death forever?” The double lines “//” make me feel as though photographs are actually being taken of the events in the story.
Very cool!