The Falsity of a Photograph - A Short Story
Every so often, I follow along with Reedsy’s weekly prompts, in order to keep writing and growing in my skills.
Written for Reedsy Prompt #144, A young woman meeting an untimely death reflects on her life through the eyes of others, and the focus of a lens, finding herself displeased with the image.
It could have been a river to be crossed, a faceless man transporting souls across the waters. It could have been the hulking forms of dogs guarding a sifting bridge. It could have been a meadow of paradise, an infernal pit, a tomb of ice, a field of reeds. An endless feast after a glorious battle, towering pearly gates, the comforting embrace of nothingness.
Death could have been anything.
So why is it more of the same?
More of this…reality?
I was really hopeful for a cloaked skull man, to be honest.
Instead, I’m overwhelmed by the voices of those who claimed to know me, coming from every direction, in the tight, claustrophobic hallways of the place I once called my childhood home.
Words of mourning, apologies, and memories, all overlapping into a sick cacophony with no focus.
I see food on the table. Sweets and treats. Ones that might have been my favourite when I was young, a child. Ones that faded out of my life in adulthood, apart, of course, from obligatory family gatherings full of false memories and forced smiles. There, I would be pleasant, chewing down the treats that I had grown to associate with people pleasing routines and the bitter aftertaste of disappointment.
At least in life, I could chase the aftertaste with wine.
A wake.
My wake.
Even in death, the rituals of life carried on.