Mute Photography

Strings of  fairy lights emit a warm yellowish glow from where they are strung between the lampposts, and many people hurry past me, heads down, hair covered by a woolly hat or hood. I walk more slowly, admiring the lights. I'm in no rush to get home. I lift up the camera that is hanging around my neck and snap a photo of the busy, dimly street on this chilly December evening. The whirring starts and out of the top comes a small piece of film. I wait for it to develop, and smile as a picture begins to form. With it in my gloved hands, I set off home once more.

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I push open my front door and walk down the corridor to my bedroom. Falling back on the bed, I look around at the hundreds - no exaggeration - of Polaroids and pictures stuck all over the walls. I'm running out of free space, so recently I've started putting the pictures on the ceiling. Grabbing my roll of washi tape, I stick my newest Polaroid in a blank space. 

My eye catches the clock on the wall and I see that it is already 7:30, so I make my way to the kitchen, which is down the landing, and open the fridge. There are no leftovers from last night's spaghetti bolognese but I do see some feta cheese so I turn to the fruit bowl and grab a handful of lettuce and some other vegetables to make myself a salad.

Salad made, I sit at the table and open my homework. Groaning at the amount of maths sums my teacher set, I get to work.

An hour, a Greek salad and two glasses of water later, I hear the door swing open, but I don't even lift my head as my mother sails past in her ridiculous turquoise dress. Instead, I pack up my maths book and quickly place my bowl and glass in the dishwasher, then retreat to my room.

Later that night, I'm having trouble falling asleep so I go downstairs to grab a glass of water, but as I turn the corner, I accidentally crash straight into my mother. She recoils instantly, a disgusted look on her face, and then stalks past, saying "Be more careful, Taylor, you lazy girl." I stand frozen, water forgotten. That's the first time my mother has touched me in 3 years. Slowly I turn back to my room, feeling lightheaded, and collapse on my bed...

***Flashback/dream***

Tesco's shopping centre. Daddy is holding my hand tightly, and pulling me along quickly, because he is desperate to get home. We  just have to get the turkey for Christmas dinner tomorrow and then we can go home and see Mummy, who is making shortbread biscuits for me!
We make our way through the heaving crowds and reach the frozen isle, pick up the biggest turkey and go to pay.

As we are leaving the store, I say to Daddy
"I can't wait to get home and eat those shortbread biscuits Daddy!"
And he says "Me too my little sugarplum, me too."

We get into the car and turn out of the parking lot, just as someone shouts "Stop!"
I hear them, but I don't think Daddy does, because he keeps on driving...as a man in a truck comes ploughing down the road, on the complete wrong side...

I smell smoke. I scream "Daddy!!!" But there is no reply. I try to move, to ask him if he is ok, to see him, but where the driver hit the car, it has buckled, and my legs are trapped. Suddenly I notice the pain - a searing, red hot, crushing pain that shoots up from my feet and makes black spots dance in my vision. There is also a terrible pain in my arm, and I look down to see it visibly snapped and hanging limply. I scream again, and push and flail with my good arm, to try and free myself. Suddenly I hit the door and the airbag deploys. I don't know why it didn't earlier, but the sheer force of the impact with my chest winds me for a moment. When I can breathe again, I realise that the force knocked me back and my legs are mostly free. They look almost completely crushed. But I squirm and turn around, ignoring the pain, trying to see my dad, and when I do, I wish I hadn't. He is sitting motionless in the chair, the only movement being his eyelids weakly fluttering. He has a gash down one side of his face from the windshield, and it is bleeding freely. His airbag did inflate, but the force sent him flying back and probably hit his head on the seat, and his neck is at a horrible unnatural angle. "DADDY!!!!" I yell, but I know in my gut that no-one will be able to save him. His eyes open for just a moment and he says
"Taylor. I...I love you...please..."
"Daddy don't leave me please!"
"Sugarplum...I love yo-"
I can just reach and I give him the biggest hug of my life, and I feel the tears making their way down my cheeks. They splash onto his shirt collar, staining it, and onto his face, so it looks like he is crying too. His eyes are glassy now, and with my last bit of courage, I reach forward and close his eyelids. That is the last time I will ever touch my dad.