Trace the Photos
She lies there. Her dark hair creating a dark halo around her pallid face.
There is no pain etched across her skin only the whispers of death lingering on her
lips. I wonder how it must feel to be lying there not knowing whether you are asleep
or in another world. I would hate it and I guess she doesn’t enjoy it either. But she
didn’t have a choice she couldn’t stop the voices in her head, so someone had to end
them for her. She couldn’t control herself anymore. That’s what happens when you
keep everything bottled up; when it gets to full it spills over. She is beautiful even in
death. I wonder if there is someone waiting for her to come home. Every night
lighting a candle. Waiting. But she will never come home. That’s the greatest pain of
all not knowing what has happened to your beloved. Does he climb into bed hoping
that when he wakes up she will be lying beside him? Or maybe he drowns his pain in
a bottle. Which one is worse, empty hope or despair? I have no clue. All I know that
her death was horrible. Cruel at the most. I stare at the picture for a last time.
Memorizing every little detail. A lost strand of hair across her forehead. The splatter
of freckles on her nose. The way her dress floats around her ankles. How one hand is
placed over her heart while the other is curled into a tiny fist. Was this how she
wanted to be remembered? Dead. More questions without answers. So I crumple up
the paper, with the article on her death and toss it in the trash can. It lands with a
hollow thud resonating the feeling in my chest. I walk across the bedroom putting as
much distance from the trash can as possible. The further away I was from her
picture the better. I never wanted to return to that night. Her screams still echo in
my ears. I hadn’t been able to stop her. If only I could have. I sink to the ground. The
cold glass pressing against my back. It hadn’t always been like this. There was a time
when I could control myself. But now every photo I saw I would just enter. No
stopping, no boundaries holding me back. I stare at the metal trash can. It sits there
taunting me. My fingers claw through my hair as I try to erase the images of that
horrific night. But no, they stay there. More images to add to my collection of
murders. All these people I never got to know. Never know their names but I would
just watch their final moments of life. A long time ago it was happy memories which
would fill me up with happiness but know it was the cruel dark images of people
dying. I wish I had never been given this gift. It wasn’t a gift it was a curse to be able
to enter a photograph and return to that moment. I end up feeling like the murderer,
like the victim and like the guilty passer bye who sees everything but doesn’t say
anything. I get up and walk to my bedroom. It is ripped bare of anything, no posters
no pictures. I wouldn’t want to end up in a photo shoot with Miley Cyrus or
something. I have to admit I used to when I was younger but after a while you get
bored of people posing in front of cameras. The pictures where a whole different
story. I used to have millions of pictures of me and my friends or family. And then
relieve those moments when I felt lonely. But you could only visit them so often
until the moments felt like they belonged to some fairy tale life that you didn’t live
in. It was better to live in the present no matter how harsh it was.
Fireworks. They are beautiful. I stare up at the exploding sky and smile. I have
experienced so little beauty in the past years of my life sometimes the smallest things are
the biggest. The loud ones make me jump in my seat but otherwise I sit stone still staring
at the sky. I don’t know what will come next or what will happen to me. If I will see next
year, or next month or even tomorrow but what I do know that since everything could
change in the snap of a finger I have to make the most of it. So tonight I am sitting in my
car. With my headlights on searing through the night and the heating cranked up at the
highest watching the fireworks explode over the valley. It started out with silly things
like shopping at a thrift store or doing a back flip on a trampoline, the list when on and on
with millions of things. All that I probably would never do. But I had my whole life do it
right? Wrong. I had my whole life until a few months ago when I discovered it was just a
matter of days before I would slip away from this world. So I started doing the things on
my list until I was left with 20. 20 things not much you say? Wrong. But finally I am
completing them one by one and tonight I can go home and tick the first one. Watching
fireworks in your car. As the final firework bursts to life I rev my car to get the motor
going and then I drive away. The road is long and winding and I know will be a long
night. I put my favorite CD at full volume and start singing. Just a small town girl living
in a LONEELYY world. I smile to myself the song bringing back memories of my
summer holidays last year. Tonight I wouldn’t return to my cold plain bedroom in the
ugly cement building I had decided to rent when I had discovered my ability. I would
stop by home and see how my baby brother is doing maybe bake a cake with mom. I was
the star of your family the won with a scholarship to Columbia University then
suddenly I was a freak. A freak all alone in the world with no one else like me. I was like
a firework shooting high up in the air, reaching its brightest point and slowly snuffing out
and spinning down to earth way to quickly for me to even understand what is happening.
There is something in the road. I swerve not wanting a road kill to happen. But the thing
follows me. Taunting me. I brake hard and pull over, which isn’t the smartest thing when
you are sixteen and driving alone on an empty road. But I wasn’t worried. I climb out of
my car, leaving the engine running. The air is nippy, seeping through my jacket and
tingling my bare arms underneath. The thing stands up and turns out to be a human. He
saunters over. He is wearing nothing but a t-shirt and a pair of jeans. It looks like he has
been out in the wild for a long time. He towers over me, his dark eyes searing and
searching. The contrast on his skin is amazing. Black hair on the palest skin I have ever
seen. He looks just like… no. A shiver runs up my spin. He looks just like her. The girl in
the magazine, they are identical. I tremble, I have seen him before. In one of the pictures
I entered. I gasp. He was there at murder. The murder of the girl I never got to know. And
he knows I was there. He cracks a smile. The skin stretching to create it like he hasn’t
smiled in ages. He brings out his hands. They are huge. In one hand he holds a picture.
The same picture I was looking at just this morning. There she is again, lying in a pond
with blood surrounding her. Her hair twisting around her like long black vines. “My
sister”. He croaks. But I am already somewhere else. Spinning back in time to that night,
the night when the girl with no name died.
She steps into a puddle, the water splashing on her sandals. “Shoot!” she says to no one
in particular. I watch as she quickly side steps the next puddle. She is tall and skinny.
Maybe too skinny. Her skin pulled tightly over her bones. Yet, she holds some kind of
beauty, which makes you stop and watch her pass. But tonight no one sees her. The road
is empty except for me but she can’t see me. I feel the sickness rise in me. She seems so
happy, full of life not knowing that in a couple of seconds her whole world will tilt and
change forever. I follow her sticking to the shadows even if I was walking down the
middle of the street screaming she wouldn’t turn around. She is oblivious of the person
waiting in the shadows. It starts all over like a play you have watched to many times. I
know what will happen next and just like I predict it happens. “Excuse me,” the man
says, “you seem to have dropped something.” The girl turns around and walks towards
the man who is holding out an object towards her. I want to jump and shove the object
from the man put no matter how hard I try I can’t seem to change what is happening. It is
like I am stuck in gelatin. I watch as she reaches for it but she will never hold the object.
As soon as she gets close enough. The man stabs her, straight through the stomach. She
screams out in pain and tries to run but he has her. He continues to stab her, until her
screams are no more than muffled yelps. The blood stains her dress turning the light pink
fabric into a blood bath. Finally he stops and she falls to the ground. Her eyes wide open,
staring blindly out into the night sky. Her body is a mangled mess, and I look away. Cold
tears streak down my cheeks. Watching a person die once is hard enough but watching
them die again is even worse. You blame yourself for what happens. I kneel down by her
and stare at her face not looking at the rest of her body. The strange thing is that she
doesn’t look scared almost as if she expected it. I hear a noise behind me and I spin
around. I see him. He isn’t the girl’s killer, and he can see me. He walks right up to me
and grabs me by the arm. “What the hell do you think you are doing?” he says.
I stare at him confused. What is he talking about? And then I realize unconsciously I
had been gripping her hand. I let go, her hand cold and stiff. Out rolls a ring. It is tiny
with a red sapphire stuck in the middle, glinting in the night. The jewel in the ring
has left a dent in her skin. I look up at him again. The man looming over me looks
just like the dead girl. I try to remember what he had told me but reality seems so
far away. My mind is thick with mist. I stare at him. His battered Chuck Taylors,
ripped up jeans and his mussed up hair. Like his sister he is gorgeous. He bends
down next to me and strokes her face. I see the tears falling down his cheeks. He
picks up the ring and rolls it between his hands. Lost in a memory of some sort. We
here a cough and see the man. The killer is shuffling slowly back towards the girl’s
body. I wonder what he will do next. Last time I had runaway not bearing the sight. I
don’t want him to put his grimy hands on her. But he does swinging her limp body
onto his shoulder and then slowly shuffling back towards the car. I hear him take a
sharp intake of breath beside me. And I turn to look at him. He trembles ever so
slightly. I know we are about to be brought spinning back into reality. I wonder why
we never get to see her, how she ends up lying in the pool. It all remains a small
mystery to me. As the cars tail lights blink out of sight I feel the mist grabbing me
and I am spinning away from the night of the murder and back into present day.
I land on my knees my hair in front of my face. I roll onto my back and groan. Every
bone in me aches. “Ahh well wasn’t that fun”, a voice says beside me. There he is
again. The girl’s brother.
“W-Whoo are you?” I stammer.
“My name is Henrique,” He says looking at me “and I think we have met before?” I stare
at him blankly.
“No I don’t think we have met before” I tell him rather point blankly.
I start walking back to my car quicker than before. Who was this guy that claimed to
know me? I looked over my shoulder to see if he was following me but he was
standing just where I had left him. Something about him made my heart clench
tightly in his chest. Some sort of fear. He could enter pictures just like me. I had
never met anyone like me except on the day of my thirteenth birthday party. The
magician, the same magician who had been in the memory of the picture I had slipt
into. At first I hadn’t remembered him but after re visiting that memory a bunch of
times I realized he was always there. He was creepy always knowing when I would
be entering the picture. Maybe if one of us entered the picture the other had too to.
But that didn’t make sense because the first time I had entered the picture of the
murder Henrique had not been there. I had so many unanswered questions. I could
not just leave Henrique standing in the middle of the road. He was the only person
who could answer my questions. I had to give him a try and if he turned out to be a
mega creep I had my loaded shot gun in the back. I always brought that with me in
case something bad happened to me. “Hey!” I shouted down the road, “You want a
ride?”
I watched as he sauntered up to me. His frayed jeans trailing in the dirt behind him.
“Thought you would never ask” He says with a cocky grin and slides into the
passenger seat. I wondered what I had gotten myself into. This Henrique guy
seemed to self assured. Could he read my mind, or maybe see into the future? I
wondered. No now I was being stupid.
“You planning to freeze to death?” Came the same cocky voice with the slight French
accent from inside my car.
“Just a sec!” I shout pretending to bend down and tie my shoe lace. I take a long
shuddering death. This guy didn’t look like a murder he looked like an innocent
young boy. Not really. I laugh at my own little joke and climb into the seat. With
shaking hands I fasten my seat belt and start the car.
We drive in utter silence for a long time. Our breathing the only thing heard. I
couldn’t go home now. Of course mom would be over joyed I was finally bringing a
guy home. But this wasn’t any guy as far as I knew he could be a serial killer and
murder my baby brother in the blitz of an eye. I switch on my radio. Radiohead
blasts through the speakers. I sing along to my favorite song from them.
“So you like this kind of music?” he asks me without even bothering to look at me, he
just keeps staring out into the night as if fascinated by something.
“They are okay, I guess.” I mumble staring at the long curvy road ahead of us.
“This is American music,” he says, I start to interrupt him but he carries on talking,
“back home me and Elise used to make our own music. A beautiful kind of music.
One that made your ears rejoice and thing that the holy angels from heaven are
down playing their harps.”
I look at him, my eyebrows crooked slightly. What the hell was he talking about?
Who was Elise? Was he some kind of religious freak? Oh gosh what if he tried to turn
me into a cult and if I didn’t I would become part of some weird sacrifice. I grimaced.
“So who is Elise?” I ask
Henrique is silent for a while. “The dead girl.” I watch as silent tears stream down
his cheeks. Maybe after all this religious freak wasn’t a serial killer and just a normal
French person who immigrated to America.
“I am sorry” say and push harder on the accelerator. Things were starting to fall into
place. Elise was the dead girl therefore his sister and maybe that is why he was able
to enter into memories because they had some kind of freaky French bond. So could
my mom enter my memories? Probably not. My mom and I had been close but then
we had started to separate after I had become the freak. I didn’t get my mom she
was all on and on about hypothetical things. What if I was to tell you I wasn’t your
mother, how would you re act? When I was little this kind of stuff would scare me
maybe even make me cry, but now I just wished she wouldn’t ask them. Did
hypothetical things re late to a certain truth. Probably they didn’t but they still
bothered me. Probably the things she told me bothered me more than they did
before. No one was close to me anymore. It is kind of sad. The silence in the car is
even worse now. It is weighed down by sad and treacherous thoughts that pain the
soul. I can’t wait for the car ride to be over. But what will happen after the car ride?
Where did Henrique live? Did he even have a home?
“So,” I start saying “Do you know the address of the place you crash?”
“I don’t have a home.” He says it quietly in a matter of fact way as if he is used to not
having a place to sleep at. This thought bothers me greatly. I don’t want to but I
guess I will have to offer out a place to say maybe just for one night.
“You can stay at my place, maybe just, for the one night” I say. He looks at me his
face suddenly lighted up as if I had just given him a million dollar check and told him
he was to live in the White House. I didn’t need to hear an answer to know it was a
yes.
For the rest of the car ride we chatted about life. I told him about everything that
had happened to me and how my life had changed dramatically ever since I had
gained my unknown ability. He seemed to clam up about his past and he didn’t say
much about his present except that he had been born with the ability to enter
photos and so had his sister. One thing that really shocked me was the seriousness
he had of finding out all the pictures I had entered. I couldn’t tell him that
sometimes I forgot that I could enter pictures and while walking down the street I
would stare into the advertisements on the big buildings and be sucked in. And I
would wake up curled on the pavement with people sidestepping me and giving me
pitiful looks. I guess I did look like a hobo with my torn up jeans, busted chucks and
holey sleeved t-shirts. Not that I didn’t own proper clothes I just liked wearing the
same outfit again and again. I didn’t see the need of wearing super glam clothes that
would be in fashion for one month and then suddenly the next you would be
walking around in a pair of slippers and people would be looking at you with that
“Someone is spaced out” look. With my torn up jeans and holey tops I just looked
like a normal teenager who maybe took a little too much time in the dirt. Suddenly I
felt a sneeze coming “Aschnootzel” Gosh, that was a big sneeze. I saw Henrique looking
at me. Probably in France, French girls had dainty little sneezes. The dust coming out of
the heater was a lot. I felt it start again, the light tingle in my nose that made me crinkle
my eyes and then here it comes again “HaMIAAAASH.” I wiped the snot with the back
of my hand. Ew. Oh no, how many times had I sneezed? Two times? Yeah that seemed
right. I had never sneezed twice without having sneezed a third, or maybe a fourth or
sometimes if I got unlucky five. “FOOOSHIO” oh here it started, my head was feeling
light headed. “PASTANOOOS” Gross. Uh-oh another one, this one was going to be big.
“AYOYOYOYOYOYO .” Thank god this was over. I gave Henrique a dashing smile and
concentrated on the driving.
We were finally nearing home. The roads were familiar. With the empty streets filled
with scraggly cats and the tall looming lamp posts casting long haunting shadows. There
was no sound in the air except my engine coughing out smoke and some oldies radio
blasting 50’s rock. I felt a ton of weight leaving my shoulders. I could picture my bed
with its comfortable duvet waiting for me. Henrique could crash on the couch for the
night and then tomorrow morning I would prepare a proper bed for him. I turned into the
driveway, my headlights drifting over the dead potted plants and the tall grey cement
building.
“Home, Sweet Home” I said as I slammed the car door behind me, jiggling the keys in
my hands. Henrique walked behind me looking cautiously into the dark ahead of us. As
the door swung open, the smell of mold wafted up in my nose. I smiled to myself. I
wonder how posh Henrique would react when he saw the inside of my apartment.
Already he seemed scared out of his living daylights. My Indian themed apartment would
scare him.
Ahh my key was jammed in the lock. Again. I really should speak to the land owner and
get it fixed. All the humidity was making my door expand. I shoved my shoulder against
the door and pushed. I shoved and tried all I could do but the door wouldn’t budge.
“Great” I said to no one in particular.
“Here let me help you,” Henrique said, and stepped in front of me and with one definite
thud the door swung open, “Now for the key” he said, he slowly twisted the key and
pulled it out. “There you go” he said with out looking at me and wiping his shoes on the
mat.
“Thanks” I mumbled. I had already imagined myself crashing up the stairs to the
pentagon apartment upstairs which smelled like booze and having to slip 5 dollar notes to
him each time he said “So sorry, the world is an expensive place.”
I followed Henrique into my place. The walls where brightly painted nice warm colors,
and drapes and exotic mats hang from them. Yet there was no picture in site. Except for a
box. A box lined with pictures so many pictures that, I could hardly remember. Just in
case I needed to escape for someone in particular. I pictured the box. At the back of the
kitchen cupboards hidden behind a stack of pre prepared stacks of soup for the winter. I
walked into the kitchen and swung open the cupboard. Dragging out some peanut butter
and a packet of sliced bread.
“Do you want anything to eat?” I shout from the kitchen. No one answers. Maybe he
didn’t here me. This time I yelled a little louder. But still no answer.
I walked out of the kitchen with the peanut jar in my hand. Then I saw him. Henrique
crashed on my sofa, with his feet sticking out from the edge, snoring gently. I smiled
softly to myself. No wonder he had not answered. I walked back into the kitchen and
prepared myself my favorite meal. Peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Yum. I crunched
into the sandwich. The nutty taste filling my stomach. Slowly my shoulders started
relaxing the strain of the night wearing down. I felt my eye lids drooping. I was ready to
crash pretty soon. I swung open the refrigerator and jugged down some apple juice. I lead
the life of an adult. I was not ordinary student. I was sixteen, I didn’t rely on my parents
except for money and I did not attend school. I walked up the thin stair case. The stairs
creaking softly under me. I was not even going to bother to shower. I was going to sleep
and tomorrow morning I would wake up and discuss business with Henrique maybe I
could manage to make him pay some rent if he ended up to stay here for a long time. But
first we would need to get him a job and some new clothes, a haircut and something to do
when I was working in the ice cream shop across the street.
I climbed into bed and stared up at the ceiling. I counted the cracks and the humidity
marks. The plaster has peeled slightly in some areas. Without these little things I would
not be able to call this home my home. I did not like having perfect things. And with that
thought I drifted of to sleep.
A couple weeks later
“‘Okay now you go to the front of the shop and pose in the window.” Said my boss,
while spritzing me with some foul smelling cologne. I let out an inward groan. Could
this job get any worse? First they ask me to only wear jeans and go around topless
and now pose in the store window?! This is insanity. “Ten pushups,” he says “we
want those muscles nice and toned!” As I sank to the ground I wondered how much
more of this I could take. “Alright, alright, hurry, hurry.” his annoying voice screams
again. I want to lash out at him, scratch him but the money was good. I should ask
for a raise, they never mentioned this when I applied for the job. I trudge slowly
towards the store window, where a gaggle of girls wait for the next store window
model to arrive. I try to ignore their screams and yells, but trust me this is worse
than entering a scene in Mean Girls. I almost punch the glass when one of them
brings out a camera and takes a snap shot of me. By tomorrow pictures of me would
be all over the school and printed out, posted in some girls locker or plastered on
the front door.’ I shut the book, it annoyed me. Bugged me at the most. How could
someone moan? Complain and grumble about something so small. Had this guy ever
thought that maybe his life wasn’t so bad after all? Posing in the window, how is that
bad? Henrique wanders into the kitchen and slams himself down in the seat next to
me. “Coffee?” I ask but I am already out of the kitchen. I couldn’t bear to talk to
anyone in the moment, I knew that the only thing coming out of my mouth would be
a stream of nonsense that I didn’t mean and would regret later.
“Eva! Come back here!” Henrique shouts after me but I just trudge up the stairs. It was
amazing how your day could go from okay to horrible. I slam the door behind me and
nestle under my covers. From under here everything is muffled. The birds songs don’t
seem to bother me that much and the noises from the busy street out of my window seem
almost relaxing. It wasn’t really the article that had bothered me that much. It was the
series of events that had occurred before that, first the phone call from mom. Why did
mothers always need to be so annoying when they wanted you to do something? Mom
wanted me to come home, and I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to be surrounded by
happiness, pictures and laughter. And me the water spilling over the candle sniffing
everything out. Mom would never understand it was tiring slipping in photos and then
living the moment like part of your life. And then being pulled back out and jostled back
into reality. Then came Henrique. I don’t know how he did it. He had watched his twin
sister being murdered, and then watched her again and then discovered that the same
killer of his twin sister was after him. He had slipped into so many photos they were all
mixed together. He had told me some of the murders still haunted him at night. Yet every
morning he would come down the stairs with a cheerful smile, slops some coffee into his
mug, drain it down and carry on living his life like everything was perfect and nothing
was wrong. Henrique always told me that if you want to live life at to your fullest so
when the final buzzer of your life stops and goes BZZZZ. You know you have done
everything possible to help others and enjoy your time on earth. He yatters on about this
when I have my depressive moments. How God is watching you from up there and he
likes it when you are the one helping others. God gets tired too; he can’t save the life of
all these people all the time. He needs to rest too. I am not the religious kind of person
but I do understand it. Just sometimes it gets so hard. I am not the kind of person to slap a
smile on my face.
I can almost feel their heavy breath on my neck. I let out a lip curling scream and start
running. The bramble tears at my clothes and the wind makes my eyes water. But I can
only think about one thing: they have found me. I stumble forward, tripping on the
uneven ground. Thorns rip long gashes in my thigh but I get up and stumble forwards.
Their long slanted eyes without pupils bore burning holes into my eyes, waiting for me to
give up and run into their hostile unforgiving arms. I lift my head slowly, searching for
something, anything to protect me, but the prairie is empty except for a barn. An
abandoned barn with its shutters hanging crookedly from the windows. I can hear the
wind moaning through the cracked glass, it sends shivers up my spin. The barn is my
only hope of escape. I pick myself up and start running. My bare feet slapping on the
barren ground. “Christina!” an evil moan carried on the wind reaches my ears. They are
saying my name. This is bad. Real bad. Soon I will feel their fiery tongues licking me,
sending me to hell. I am giving up hope. My heart jumping in my throat, my eyes have a
maddened glaze over them. Death is mocking me, taunting me driving me insane. I can
almost here his evil cackle. The cackle I have heard so many times. I know what I must
do. I hitch up my skirt and pull out a long rusted dagger from my petticoat. I will kill
myself before they can. I see them with their ripped up faces and the blood poring out of
their flesh. It was a horrible sight. If I left myself there I knew I would be the one ending
up like them. So I take the dagger and run it through my chest. As I take my last breath I
watch them zap away. A figment of my imagination. I had just killed myself. I look down
at the blood spurting from my open wound and scream. The last sound I would ever make
in my life. And then black and the feeling of me falling. I jolt up in my bed, tears falling
down my cheeks. I look at the clock it is noon. I must have fallen asleep. I strain my ears
for any sounds of life in the house but it is deathly quite except for the occasional creak
of the wooden stairs. I swing my legs out of bed and gingerly lay my feet on the cold
tiles. I shiver. Where are my slippers? I think to myself. I scan the floor for them but I
can’t find them. I look under my bed. Apart from the random piles of books with dust so
thick on them there is nothing. I am about to get back up but something catches the back
of my eye. It is a photo frame. The picture covered in so much dust you can barely see it.
I press myself on the floor and stretch my arm, trying to reach it. My fingers scrape its
side, creating a long swipe in the dust. The frame is silver with intricate. I curl my
fingertips around the edge and drag it too me. I sit at the end of my room in a tiny nook.
Cradling the image in my arms. I don’t dare look at it. But the temptation just to peek at it
is so irresistible. I can hear the picture luring me with its spell. I know I shouldn’t look, it
is not safe to enter a picture to go inside one of your own memories, and you can get
stuck in a puzzle of your own brain. The only picture I have ever entered that I was part
of was the day of my thirteenth birthday when I discovered my power. I had needed to
know what had brought me this gift. So I had searched that memory long and hard. But
had found nothing except a discarded present and a girl’s shoe. This picture could be of
anything. I look at the clock on the wall. Henrique will be home in less than three hours
and entering a picture can keep you away for sometimes more than a day. If Henrique
found me in this state he would know what had happened to me and would enter the
picture. If that happened things would get bad. So I had to find a way to leave the picture
before he returned. Without looking at the picture I wipe the dust. I do not want to enter a
dirty picture, things need to be perfect. The last time I had entered the picture it had been
the one of the murder but things would be different this time. I knew what was going to
happen in the picture of the murder and when tings are unexpected sometimes the worst
things can happen. I look down at the picture and see myself and a boy. I do not
remember who this boy is I have no clue who he is or what time it was in my life. All I
know is that it my hair was blonde. My blue eyes where glinting in the sunlight and I was
laughing. I was looking up at the boy with an adoring gaze. I felt a tug as my brain slowly
entered the picture. Calmness took over me and I relaxed slumping against the wall.
She is skipping around the meadow and he is holding her hand. They are laughing
together. She is wearing a fluffy pink skirt and his hair is tied in loose braids. The boy is
wearing a pair of cut off jeans and a baggy blue collared shirt. He looked so familiar but
my memories where slightly blotted out. Who was taking the picture I did not see anyone
else. This was confusing. I turned around but the meadow was empty and the forest
surrounding it seemed empty no noises coming out from it. How could there be no one
taking the picture? I observed myself with the boy. He looked like an older version of
Henrique. How was this possible? Henrique had never been in my past before I would
have remembered if he had been in my life. I felt a shiver running down my spine it could
not be. This was not possible. It was one of the pictures the magician had warned me
about the ones that are things that happen in the future and you get trapped in them and
you can not escape. Oh no! I thought. “Henrique!” I yelled, maybe he could hear me. I
had to leave. If something happened that I was not supposed to see and then in the future
I changed it subconsciously, my whole life would fall apart. I stared at them. They where
obviously in love. I looked more healthy, my skin did not have that weird sheen to it
anymore. I liked myself better this way. And Henrique looked pretty hot. I have to admit
we looked fabulous together. Stop caring about how you look. I practically screamed out
loud. Not that it mattered if, no one would hear me. I had to get out of here I told myself.
I walked further away from them. If I walked so far away from them surely this memory
in the future would be frayed at the edges and if I entered the black then I would come
back home. Hopefully. I ran into the woods. My breathe puffing out in front of me. The
twigs under my feet snapped and cracked. After running for what seemed ages. I was still
surrounded by trees. There was nothing frayed. How could this be possible? At some
point the memory must end. When they changed scene. I could not sty here forever could
I? And now I was lost in the middle of the woods not knowing where on earth I was with
no way of finding someone. At least when I was in the meadow I was with myself. Well a
figment of myself in the future but it was still company. I needed to go back to the
meadow. The urge was so strong. I could feel the panic rising in me. I started retracing
my steps. Oh please I needed to get back. Now. I had too. The sun was setting and I knew
if I did not hurry I would be thrown into the pitch black. I swallowed my fear and decided
to think rationally. I could not die. Since my real body with my beating heart was at home
but I could go brain dead, if I died in the picture. If. Stop thinking. Just run, real fast. So I
did. The branches tore at my clothes but I carried on running. I had to. I could not stop.
No I could not stop not now. What seemed like hours I saw the trees start thinning and
more light filtering from the trees. I had made it I let out I sigh of relief. Thank god. I
stepped out into the grass. No trees hugged me close anymore. No only air. I searched fro
myself and Henrique but I could not see anyone. Then I saw something. Or more like
someone. They where walking through the grass. Swiftly and quietly I could barely hear
the rustle. The person raised her head to the sky. She could have almost passed for a guy.
With her baggy ski jacket and dark jeans but her long flowing her gave her away. I took
in a deep breath to still the jitters and started walking towards her. She turned and stared
right at me. I froze. Her eyes bore deep into me. How could she see me? Then I realized
she wasn’t seeing me she was seeing the person behind me. Or more like the two people
behind me. Henrique and myself where standing behind me. I was gripping his hand so
tightly I wondered how the blood was circulating. Our faces where petrified. I watched as
The lady raised a metal gun. It glints in the setting sun. Blinding me for a second. She
raises it. I hear a scream as myself in the future stretches out to protect Henrique. I feel a
massive pain. Like something ripping through me. I stare down at my stomach and see a
bullet whole ripped through me. I look up at Henrique and myself in the future. Henrique
is clutching a hand to the whole in his chest. His eyes wide in fear. While I am slumped
dead in his arms. I watch as he falls to the ground sobbing into my hair. I then watch as
the lady raises her arm once again and fires away. Shooting Henrique through the head. I
yell out in pain. I have watched the person I probably loved the most in my life die and I
had seen myself die. What do I do know? The memory was over. But the scene would not
change. I was trapped in here. I would never travel anywhere with myself in the future.
Because the person in the future was dead. The final scene of my life was here. That is
why the memory did not fade. It would never fade. I would walk on. Surrounded by trees
for eternity. That’s of course if I lived. I looked down at my bleeding stomach. My
chances where low. I spun around to see the lady. My killer. And Henrique’s killer
disappear into the trees. I had a feeling she would not return. For a very long time.
I sank to the ground. My brain filled with unanswered questions. Why had I been
murdered. Something did not make sense. Suddenly I thought back to the murder of
Henrique’s sister. The man stabbing her to death. The man with such feminine facial
features. And his hair tucked into a beanie. Elise’s murderer was no man. He was a
woman. The same woman who had killed me and Henrique. I wondered if anyone would
find our bodies. Maybe they would have a statue built for us in the middle of this
meadow. Called “Eva and Henrique: The star crossed Lovers.” I chuckled to myself.
Highly unlikely that anyone would even find me. The pain was getting unbearable. And I
was starting to feel light headed. Not good. I needed help. But there was no help. The
clown had warned me. Henrique had warned me and I had always been so foolish. The
photo I had looked had not been a photo it had been an empty photo frame. I had
imagined the photo before me. Or at least some part of me that knew what would be in
the photo frame some day and then I had entered it and gotten stuck in the photo. I shut
my eyes. Feeling tears streaking down my cheeks. I had never gotten to say goodbye to
anyone. My mom, my brother, Henrique, dad or even Mr. Darcy; the cat that loved across
the road in the old ladies house. As they always say curiosity killed the cat. The grass
tickled my neck but by now I was fading away. My brain trying to grab onto lucidness. I
saw black butterflies fluttering before me, heading towards a bright light. “Stop” I tired to
tell them. The light will kill you, do not follow the light. But they do not listen to me and
I am to tired to save them so I watch them flutter away to a certain death. I smile. I do not
know why I smile. All I know is that it hurts less to smile. I am dying. Death is not
pretty. It is time to stop thinking. And I do. Letting the black envelope me. The last
thought I ever had was. Black Butterflies.
“Eva,”
“EVAAA”
Someone is calling my name. To loudly. I do not like this person. I want to swat him
away but my arms are stuck in some kind of jell-o substance. I try to open my eyes but
they are glued shut. What is wrong with me. With more determination I thrust my eyes
open. Light. Bright light. I quickly shut my eyes again. But I open them quickly enough I
like what I see. I see long brown hair. I see a French face. I see Henrique gazing down at
me with an expression I have never seen him wear before. He looks scared. I let out a
groan. And try to roll to my side but I am filled with so much pain I nearly scream out
loud. I stare down at my mid drift and see t wrapped in bandages. Suddenly I remember
everything. Watching myself die and then the bullet shot and then black. A girl. A serial
killer. Everything was messed up. It was too much. I had made a mistake. A big one. I
started sobbing.
“Shh!” Henrique said brushing a cool hand across my fevered forehead.
“I am sorry I have messed up.” I should have waited for you to return. “I am so sorry”
“What happened?” Henrique asked, “I mean something big must have happened, I only
left injured from a picture once in my life and that was a picture where I tried to stop a
man killing a girl.”
I looked away if I told him what had happened Henrique would be scared. I could not tell
him.
“Eva please tell me, what did you see?”
I opened my cracked lips. “I saw us in love,” I murmured, “I saw Elise’s killer,” at the
mention of Elise’s name Henrique flinched ever so slightly “And I saw us die.”
“You entered a picture in the future?” Henrique asked. “Comme?” he wondered to
himself. He started blabbing in French. “It is possible, though very rare.” He paused
scratching his head slightly. “Only those who posses a great power are able to enter blank
pictures.” He stared at me a look of wonder took over his face “Now Eva, tell me
everything of this picture memory.”
I licked my lips, cleared my throat and started to speak. I told him everything from the
moment I entered till the moment I left. When I was done, I felt even emptier like I had
given a part of myself away to Henrique. He was silent for a moment, his eyes glassy. He
said something under his breath. Stared out of the window. Wringed his hands and ran his
fingers through his tasseled hair.
“I have a great many things to explain to you.” Henrique told me. “Oh a great deal,
maybe to many for one day.”
“We have all night.” I said softly, hating how cheesy it sounded.
So Henrique told me how he and his sister had messed up back in France, gotten caught
up in some bad ass French guys who abused their talent to enter pictures and now after
having fled to the States they had a killer on their tail who wanted to kill anyone who
could enter pictures since they could give evidence of murderers and so forth. He then
told me something that unnerved me. He told me that the lady that I had seen in the future
was dead. He had killed her the night she had killed he sister. “Then how was she in my
future?” I had asked. And then Henrique had told me that she was not really there in my
future, she was the fear living in his mind that would paint these people into the future.
He had further told me that his sister had had the same talent that I had and that it was
trouble it brought sickness and he told me that I should never ever do that again.
Everything made so much more sense now it was hard to believe. After a while when I
was sure Henrique had drifted off to sleep I decided to speak, “So we do not die?” I ask
to the room.
“No, at least not for now.” Henrique said from the rocking chair in the corner of my
bedroom. “Now sleep, Eva for tomorrow awaits a long day.”
I let my droopy lids shut and the sweet sleep wrap me in its warm embrace.
If only I knew who I was. I was standing in the middle of a gym. Nothing but rows and
rows of bleachers surrounded me. The smell of leather and sweat filled the air. Empty
popcorn boxes littered the ground, someone’s jacket lay in a heap and a single
cheerleader’s pompom stood left abandoned at the foot of a bleacher; the remains of a
basketball match. Nothing that meant anything to me. A person like me and a basketball
match I mean I was… I was… who was I? Nothing but black filled my mind. I collapsed
to the ground, tears trickled down my cheeks. Not knowing was the worst part. I couldn’t
remember anything, not one single drop of information that could tell me who I was. All I
remember was pain, pain that made me claw at my skin, unbearable fiery hot pain that
burned my skin. I woke up with a start. My head jerking back on the pillow. Another
nightmare. For the past weeks I seemed to be having constant nightmares. They were the
explanation for the dark bags under my eyes and the unhealthy look to my face. I
clenched my fists as I was hit with a wave of pain from my stomach. My bandages where
stained in blood and I was feeling light headed again.
I stumbled out of bed. My legs weak under my body, I needed medical assistance but if I
told them I had been shot there had to be an explanation and I just did not have the time
and energy to concoct a somewhat believable lie for them. “Henrique!” I shouted. As I
walked into the bathroom. I stared at myself. Oh my god, my dress was stained in blood
and the hand I had pressed to my stomach was wet with my own blood. “HENRIQUE!” I
yelled, I was scared not as scared as last night but I was still scared.
“I am right here Eva,” Henrique said coming up from behind, “Relax!”
“How am I supposed to relax when I am bleeding to death?” I yelled my voice touching
hysteria.
“You are not bleeding to death, it just looks worse than it is.” Henrique said his voice
hinting a smile. He gently unwraps the bandages and I let out a gasp when I see that
where the bullet hole had been was now a raw red skin stitched together.
“How did that happen?” I wonder out loud.
“You where shot in a nonexistent time period, technically none of this has happened. The
wound will heal in the matter of days.” Henrique said.
My shoulders slump with relief. Everything was going to be okay after all. Henrique
wraps some fresh bandages around my stomach after having cleaned up the blood. When
he has left I throw down some aspirin pills to ease the throb in my head and then slowly
slip on some clothes. As I am pulling on my jeans my eyes flicker to the calendar and I
see something that astonishes me. It has been 2 weeks since I have entered the picture.
But I had woken up just yesterday which means I was stuck in the photo for 13 days.
That was creepy. I run down the stairs to find a note from Henrique who says he has gone
out I listen if I have any voicemails. One from mom and one from the sweet store asking
if I was going to come back to work anytime soon. I deleted both of them. I am planning
to disappear a bit. I was not ready to face reality for a bit. Life was hard and I have been
facing it for a long time but right now I was ready to fade away. Ironically leave the
picture. I knelt down at my knees and pulled out the box. It was a plain wooden box,
slightly rough at the edges with a metal clasp on it. It was heavy and knew why. It was
packed full with photos that I had once had plastered around the house. Today was the
day. I picked up the box and walked up the stairs. My havianas slapping on the wooden
boards. As I stepped outside a blast of fresh air hit me. Ruffling my cheeks and giving
them a burst of colors. I skipped across the road and hailed a taxi. First stop, moms
house.
As the taxi pulled into the parking space I realised how much I had missed moms place.
The freshly mowed lawn and the neat flower beds and with the white washed walls.
There was no car, and the house was empty. Mom was at work and so was dad and my
baby brother was at school.
“Hang on a sec.” I told the taxi driver.
I ran up to the porch and slipped the extra key from under the flower pot. Things had
really never changed. As I pushed open the door I was hit with the familiar smell of the
house. I walked into the living room and rested the box on the glass table. I prised open
the lid and took out the first picture without looking at it. I knew what it was though. It
was a picture of me and my family. I had written it on the back on the photo with long
slanting words. I had done this to the entire photos one dreary long day so I would know
what they were about without having to look at them. I put the photo on the kitchen
counter face down and took a pen out and wrote “Trace the photos.” When mom saw this
she would know what I meant and she would know where she would find the rest of the
pictures that would then lead to me. I walked out of the house and hopped into the cab. I
told him the next stop and the next and the next. My photo’s spread all across town with
the same words on them “trace the photos.” Soon my box was empty apart from one
photo. That lay at the bottom with no words at the back. This photo was for Henrique, a
photo I had snapped in a passport booth. A photo of me for him to remember me by. I
was leaving for good I had enough of this world. I was haunted by the memories of
deaths and I could not stand this any longer. I needed an escape. As the taxi finished the
circle of town I bid him goodbye and trudged up the stairs to my apartment. My lonely
apartment. Waiting for me. Forever. Even though I would never return. I shoved open my
door and walked inside. I placed my box on the table. I opened it. Stared at the photo
turned upside down and decided to write Henrique a letter;
Dear Hennrique,
Thanks for everything, the spare keys are under the mat.
I put this in the box with the photo’s and slammed the door behind me. I did not have a
clue where I was going maybe Kenya but I could not stay here. I counted the bills of
money in my pocket and checked my passport. An adventure awaited me.
I was sitting in the metro. A man beside me reading the newspaper. The headlines blared
“Two teenagers found dead in meadow, case of murder unknown.” I smiled, I had
cheated death. I could not cheat death forever, but I had saved the life of Henrique and
me. It was easy as simple as tossing a coin. It was in the future. But not the distant future
actually quite close. It was supposed to happen yesterday. But I had intervened. Stopped
us from going two weeks ago. Henrique would know as soon as he read the paper. He
would be mad because I had messed with our lives. But it was the price to pay for a small
thing. I stared at the photo of us smiling. I felt no tug no black absolving me. No I had
broken a curse by breaking a rule. I was pretty smart when it came to these kind of things.
I smiled. Henrique would thank me some time later when he flicked over the picture and
found himself staring at it five minutes later still not entering it. I walked into the airport
and stared at the places I could go to. Cape Town, South Africa. Yeah that sounded like a
nice place.
I bough a ticket, hopped on the plane and flew over thousands of miles of ocean to
hopefully a better new life.
6 years later
My shift ended in exactly 2 minutes. Maybe I could close the store early. 2 minutes could
not even hurt a cat. I was untying my pony tail when the bell jingled on the door. Aghh! I
thought. Everyone was waiting for me in the bar with a cake to celebrate my 23 birthday
and I could not wait to leave the muggy tourist store. The tall man ambled over to me.
His hair was a dark black and was hidden by a bright blue baseball hat. The Yankees. I
smiled to myself. “From the Apple?” I ask. Sometimes I missed all the rush, almost
getting run over by a cab and the occasional celebrity you would crash into while walking
down the street.
“Yeah!” He said “Why?”
His broad accent brought a fresh wave of homesickness over me.
“Oh nothing, can I help you?” I scrutinized his face. He looked so familiar, yet so
different.
“Yeah I am looking for a certain Eva; a connection said she worked here.”
I let out a gasp, “Henrique?”
“Eva?” But we did not wait for confirmation I was ready wrapping my arms around me.
“How did you find me all the way here?” I asked after breaking free.
“A connection, like I said before.”
“Well it took you six years” I told him with a wink.
“It isn’t that easy to travel when you are dead to the rest of the world.”
“About that…” I said trailing of
“It does not matter, you saved my life Eva and I can’t re pay you for what you did.” He
said clutching my hand. “Now let’s get out of here.”
I smiled, “Let me take you to the Fisherman’s Cove, I got some friends that are eager to
met up with you.”
My heart felt ready to burst. He had found me. He had picked up the clues that had
brought him to me. Even though it had taken him six years to find me.
“Your brother has turned out to be a looker.” He said
“Oh how are they?” I asked suddenly very eager.
“Well your mom found the pictures and she knows that you are somewhere out there and
so does your dad, do not worry they are not heartbroken they knew it was bound to
happen sometime soon.” He said smiling down at me.
I stared out into the horizon. Oh how happy I was to have finally found the missing piece
of myself. And with that thought we walked into our tiny blissful future.