Annabel Leigh

Symptom: Discomfort

What seemed like the normal crowds of the street could make a good cloaking device for the real trouble that was going on. Drug dealers in hoodies swapped cash for goods as they passed by their buyers. Someone collapsed on the street, grasped their guts and cried out in pain because someone shoved their fist in that person's stomach. Maybe it wasn't trouble, but someone's love-life developing. Two strangers locked eyes for the first time. Couples held hands or sneaked a kiss. Moments no one cared to capture because they seem so natural.

Except for Annabel Leigh Dullahan, a solo photographer. Her reason for going out of her way to capture those small moments in Baltimore was hapless; she was dying.

"Annabel! Over here!"

Annabel snapped her attention back from her daydreams and towards the voice of one of her best friends. Alex Carter, a genderqueer role model in the state of Maryland, was a successful television director who always took their best friend out to dinner on Thursday nights. For certain, they had called her over to the cozy restaurant the two of them always visited.

Annabel could see her breath fogging up her round-rimmed glasses as she rushed over to the warm, open-armed doors of the restaurant. Almost immediately, she was greeted by one of Alex's rough pats on the back as they pulled her over to their seats for the evening. Shortly after the two of them finished eating, Alex asked the same question they would every week.

"So, what good shots did you get this week?" They grinned, propping their elbows up on the table.

"You're always too excited to look at other people's business," said Annabel.

"You're always too in other people's business," they replied.

Annabel chuckled. "Alright. I've got some teenagers passing brown paper bags to each other, a street proposal, and some shots from the mansion." She pulled out her digital camera and passed it over to Alex.

She didn't actually live in a 'mansion'. That's just what Alex and her referred to it as, not that Alex had ever been in it. Annabel lived in a large colonial house owned by an old man her and her other housemates called 'Paps'.

"So Stacy was talking about her mother again this morning, but I never see her around, and there's no way that little girl can afford living there," Annabel said in a raw attempt to start a new conversation. "I don't pay much at all, but it's still no child's allowance. There's also that God awful alcoholic who lives above Stacy's room. I never see Jerry without a drink in his hand, and Paps just allows it, even in front of Stacy. Stacy's eight."

Before her mind got a chance to wander away to her other housemate, Alex had a way of reading her mind aloud. "These photos are really gorgeous. I love the interior of the mansion." A smile crept up over their face. "So, how come I don't see Malachi in any of these? How's he doing?"

Crap. Annabel could feel her face burn. "I'm surprised he isn't in one. He's almost-- no, he's always around the house wherever I am." She pursed her lips. "You wouldn't even know what he looks like."

"I don't, you're right," Alex mused. "When do I get to meet the guy?"

"It's not of significance," she mumbled.

"Well that's a load of crap!" Her friend snorted. "Come on, Anna, give me something, eh?"

Annabel remained silent for a moment. "... I don't know much about love or the feeling of lust, but I know what passion looks like. I know what interest looks like. I try to match those things with the look in Malachi's eyes when he looks at me, and I can't. He definitely has both of those things with the way he talks to me, but it's not in his eyes. It's hard to miss his feelings." It's hard not to reciprocate them. "Not that they mean anything to me."