Short Stories

Shots in the Dark

               The sky was dark with the coming storm. The deep hues of the cumulonimbus clouds noticeably contrasting the sharp, branching stream of light running through the center of it all. Was this freedom? 

Lance thoughtfully tucked the photo back into his breast pocket. He always kept it close. it reminded him of when he had been a travelling photographer, when he didn't have to worry about meeting any standards but his own. Indonesia? Sure, if he felt like it he could go there. Morocco? Why not? His thirst for adventure was fed even more by his wanderlust, and photography was his ticket to freedom. Entire collections of pictures were at his fingertips. Spelunking in caves was one of his favourite memories, and they made up a good portion of his portfolio. He relished his memories of the past, for they had reached their full potential and now, inevitably, had come to an end.

His funds had run out. His inheritance had been thrown at him when his mother died of cancer and his father, unable to cope, went into hiding. He still did not know where his father was, and nor did he care. He thought that what money he had received from them could take him anywhere in life. But alas, this was not so. Despite his parents being distinguishably rich, he had blown his money. Not that he had spent it all himself, no, he was not that incapable. The truth of the matter laid in the fact that travelling as often as he was, and to suspicious areas nonetheless, a good majority of the money had ended up in some cutpurse's pockets.

And so, without funds, without any support from family or Patreon, he was forced to get a job. Being a photographer, and not being exactly skilled in much else, Lance had decided to look towards National Geographic.

He took out another picture from his breast pocket, severely wrinkled in every way. It was a selfie; him surrounded by a bunch of smiling faces, surrounded by stacks of paperwork. During his interview, they had asked him what he had been before. Of course, he replied with "Freelance Photographer", which, if he remembered correctly, had earned a chuckle from the most of the head office. Once they had completed looking through his portfolio, he was hired by National Geographic. He was in.

He remembered the day the picture had turned his stomach sour; he had formed a tight fist, crumpling the photograph of his office team back in Wisconsin. He was on assignment in a national park, and hating it. Always being one for adventure, he had been satisfied, even excited, at this new assignment. Until he was told what to do.

Being technically homeless, and also a freelance artist, Lance was never one for submitting to a higher authority. This included work.

He wanted to fulfill his thirst for adventure, capturing the majesty of a lion leaping to capture its prey, the classic surfacing of a great white, even the awe-inspiring crack of lightning during a monsoon in Indonesia. But this was not so. His assignment was to capture photos of ecological growth in Jasper National Park. How boring. Or at least, that is what he had thought at first.

Another photograph, another memory. The photograph was nothing great, its composition sub-par at best, and the stock showing signs of water damage. It featured the lodge Lance had arrived at back in 1996, he stayed there for only two days. He kept it because it was the beginning of a new life for him, not because it was quality. Actually, nothing he took for the first half month of his assignment was of any quality. He halfheartedly took pictures of trees, moss, and the occasional bird taking flight. Nothing interested him. He abhorred the idea of being held back, of being submissive to his orders. But he did not understand his place in things just yet.

His patience gone, Lance decided to camp out by himself for a few days. Mind you, this was not the greatest idea, and was definitely against the law. But he didn't care, he was tired of being held captive by all those stupid rules.

The next picture was an interesting one. The composition was alright, but the colour was his favourite, it communicated the sense of freedom which he had finally felt when he took the shot. He was never the best survivalist, and the rough lean-to in the photo served as ample proof. Finally feeling a sense of freedom, he had decided to experiment with his camera, and ended up ruining his tripod when he slipped on some ice on the way to a nearby stream. Saddened, but not discouraged by the event, he continued his vigil for another two nights, his lean-to and trail mix serving him well. He placed this photograph with the others in his pocket.

Lance picked up his camera, turning it on. It was at seven per cent battery life. He didn't care anymore, he had gotten what he came for and more, much more. He flipped through his recently taken pictures to the closeup photograph of two wolves sharing an embrace. By far, this was his favourite photograph. One of the wolves seemed to be oppressing the other, but understanding the situation, Lance realized that it was a show of belonging. The one wolf was submissive, yet it knew that it was free through the protection of the alpha. The wolves trusted each other, working together in a hierarchy which provided benefits to both individuals. Nothing was a better example of the growth of the ecosystem, nothing better than this picture of growing relationships between its inhabitants. Yet this photograph was also his favourite because it brought him to terms with his own life.

Losing his parents at such a young age deprived him of experiencing true freedom. But now he realized, working under the financial protection of National Geographic provided him with the freedom he needed to pursue what he had been desiring before. His independence was provided through him submitting to his superior. As much as he had desired to run his own life, this photograph let him realize that he would just have been submitting to his climbing debt, and instead, su missing to National Geographic's standards would actually provide him with more freedom than before.

Snapping out of his nostalgic stupor, Lance picked up his camera and spare tripod, leaving to return to the lodge. The lean-to would eventually return to its natural state. The wolves would continue to grow as a pack. And Lance? Well, he has the photograph he needs.

Passing the den of wolves on his way back, Lance once again takes out the first photograph, the lightning bolt extravagantly expressing its freedom. Looking at what he had experienced, and at what he thought being free meant, he realized something- the lightning bolt was not entirely unsubmissive either. Just as the lightning bolt was set loose from the heavens, the true spark of freedom which it expresses is only seen when the energy, the soul of the bolt, returns to the heavens in full submission.

Placing the picture in his pocket, he turns away from the wolves and makes way back to the lodge, and then to Wisconsin. Just as the lightning bolt returned to the sky in submission, he would return and submit his photographs to National Geographic. And in the end, Lance knows that his character will be all the better for it.