Once Upon a Story [ INCONSISTENT UPDATES ]

The Photographer

❝ 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘺 𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘐'𝘷𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘯? ❞

word count: 1480

— 𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 📸 ❞

He felt dead. There was nothing he found or saw that appealed to his eye. What could he capture that was so stunning it was worth an eternity of fame?

"Nothing," he whispered, staring blankly outside his window as beams of sunlight poured into the room, lighting up every speck of dust present. "No one is worth more than this world has willed them to be: a few decades, perhaps a century for the lucky ones."

Luisa always had a fascination with life from a young's age, always seeking its absolute representation. While his father dreamt of him becoming a leader, the heir to his great company, he found favour in his mother's eye with his artistic prowess.

Day in and day out, he would stoop the streets, stalk the shadows and capture life at its finest moments when the noise of human activity could no longer poison her breath. His pictures were odd to look at; separate frames of what could have been a beautiful wide screenshot. But Luisa knew what he was doing. He called his art a mosaic: chaotic when looked at alone but creating a shocking harmony once put together.

That is what he called life: a most puzzling thing, constructed from some of the best and worst times passed, merging to birth the psyche of a wise yet immature man. It was his essence, and he spent his remaining time pondering this heavy topic.

"When will my art appear in a light I've never seen?" he said, gently holding the camera around his neck. "Will you wait until your last spark to give rise to my lasting eternity?"

And as he lamented, stringing his increasingly depressive verses to the void of his room, something came to him or rather, someone. A person walking their dog, clad in the most bizarre yet attractive outfit he'd ever seen.

Complete with patterns society would deem atrocious when married, he found them stunning in this forced bond. The colours reflecting on his eyes were verdant and bright emeralds, ruby and deep crimsons, soft roses and mute flesh. And to stop there would be a crime itself, for the garb sported a rainbow of tints, an amalgamation of experiences all gathered on one figure.

"I must have it all," Luisa murmured, speeding out of his apartment complex. He reached the road, panting and sweaty, too impatient to wait for an elevator to the fifth floor. Looking right and left, Luisa spotted a fluffy petticoat ruffling past a corner. He bolted, running after the person who captured the lens of his camera.

Calling out to the walking piece of art, they stopped, shocked by his appearance. Clean and kept hair, gelled back with a few strands framing his face, and a smoothened black button-up with matching fitted pants. He was well dressed, looking perfectly normal, but his eyes told a story: one wild and uncharted to many around him. And just as they analyzed him, Luisa did the same, looking at the spark in their eyes, unveiling a past filled with joyful terror.