January 20, 2017: Exposure
“Click! … (reel) … Click! Click!” Got it! The lens was perfectly focused on her hair and the shutter speed fast enough to catch those few strands waving about from the westward sea breeze. She was facing the shore, as was I. I captured the top of her bare shoulders and her long, thick, wavy dark brown hair with speckles of sand scattered from strand to strand. The sea was loud in front of her, waves crashing unto themselves before rushing to shore and back again. I got it all. Back in the dark room, I prepared the film. The paper was ready to catch the image and the film was ready for exposure. Too little light and the story would lose its detail. Too much light and it would drown in it. It required a delicate exposure to be told in its full beauty. Just a brief flash of light for it to be just right.
January 16, 2017: Marathon
A grumbling sound was rumbling outside. I ran to the window in haste to see what it was, fearful that a storm was coming to spoil my getaway. It was an odd fear. For the last six months since the Sinisters took over, grumbling sounds pounded the streets nearly every hour, but they weren’t the kind that traveled from the collision of clouds overhead. Rather, they were the kind that escaped from automatic weapons at a persistent and dangerous speed. They would bounce off walls of hallowed out homes and obliterated school buildings of our once happy little town. The echoes would travel down every street. The Sinisters were an evil breed, destined to rise from the ground beneath to bring the world above back to the time when they ruled the lands. Such was a time of despair when friends turned against each other, communities closed their doors, and families shut their hearts to the needs of anyone but their kin. The Sinisters were destined to trap us all, but I wouldn’t be trapped, no way. I would seek refuge. My marathon to a distant land was set to begin on that day if the skies were clear, and fortunately they were. The grumbling sounds I heard that day were of the usual kind. My journey as a refugee would thus begin. My heart heavy but my sights ahead, I set forth towards Yuropia. My life now depended on how unlike the Sinisters they were. It depended on their hearts.
January 6, 2017: Float
January 6. My day, I say.
I was born on January 6, and I have been afloat ever since.
The ground beneath me has shifted, shaked, wavered and favored
my existence above it, as I float on ground.
The waves come and go, the world spins and drifts,
and it has taken me with it.
Every January 6, I look at the world around me as I float about
the tides high and low.
January 6 has been the most consistent day, I say.