A picture not taken

ONE

          The wispy hairs of my grandfather's beard flowed with the late summer breeze. I lifted my Nikon N65. My grandfather straightens my hand and adjusts my posture. This picture had to be perfect. I kneeled by the wonderful flower sitting before me, a Daylily. The instructions of my grandfather drowned out by my concentration, I pressed the shutter button, and the sound startled me out of my concentration, leaving a certain sadness. This flower was no longer of importance. This was my job. Capture the most beautiful things, then leave them to die, as I preserved their most beautiful self. I turned to my grandfather, waiting for the small smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth every time I completed one of his tasks, but none came. He looked at me with a strange pang of sadness. He turned away, leaving me by the Daylily.
           Grandfather turned to me, still walking backwards. "Goodbye, child. This is our parting place," He said with tears forming in his eyes, "I'm so sorry, my boy."
           I opened my mouth to utter a goodbye, but the words never left my mind. He walked out of the flower field, and into the street. His figure left my vision. I wanted to take a picture of the moment, but I could not move my hand. The irony hit me like a wave, sliding my mind out of the temporary paralysis. I looked once more towards my grandfather, but I only saw his dark silhouette lined by the sun, walking with a sudden urgency out of my vision. I slumped to the ground. My chance was gone. The chance to preserve the last moment with the only man I could call my family.
           A rustling sound came from my behind, and I spun around. Rough hands grabbed my shoulders and turned me, though, before I could get a look at the stranger. He knocked my knees out from under me, and I collapsed to the ground once more. A muffled voice near my left ear said,
           "This will not hurt if you cooperate. Just slowly walk backwards."
           I did so, standing up. His hands, now gentler, guided me back to a truck, which I knew from the rumbling sound behind me. Only trucks could come this far out into the Fields.
          Who are these people, and why do they want me? I thought to myself as I entered the vehicle. I could see now that the truck was filled with men, all in masks. The man driving lowered his mask and glanced down at a paper on a clipboard.
          "Eoll Rockinson?" The man said, adjusting the glasses on his face. When I nodded, he gave me a tired smile and started his truck. I never use that name, how had they gotten it?
          We had been driving for an hour when a large building came into view. I straightened my back, ready to leave the truck. The constant potholes in the road had given me a headache. The truck came to a stop near a guard holding an M16. The man with the glasses whispered something into the guard's ear, and he nodded. He gave a signal to a man, who unlocked and opened a gate.
   

                                    WHAT WILL HAPPEN NEXT? READ PART TWO FOR MORE OF EOLL!