Flash Fiction And Short Stories

4. Portrait of a young woman (updated ending)

(Inspired by the painting 'Portrait of a young woman' (1935) by Meredith Frampton)

Passed on over generations dating back to the eighteenth century, the beautiful small silver treasure with the undecipherable engraving on its inside had first belonged to a young woman who, by pure chance, had stumbled upon it at the weekly town market, at the stand of a grimly old man who told her that he had found it somewhere in the woods while on a ride-out with some friends, at a time when he had been young and successful himself, but that he had deeply regretted picking it up ever since, as it had plagued him with a terrific curse.

Whoever woman was to be given this ring as a sign of engagement, would sink into an unexplainable sadness, slowly dying of an unbearable grief. The man who had lost more than one beloved wife to the curse before realizing what its core was, had of course tried to destroy and get rid of the mysterious object but it somehow always found its way back to him, intact and whole, like on the day he had found it.

The sight of the poor man and his unbelievably sad story had moved the girl so much that she offered to buy it off him, believing that exchanging it for money would break the curse. And as she never intended to get married anyways, she did not have any second thoughts about the purchase that would turn out to mark the essence of her presence, as she would go on her way, fearless in mind, but carrying a heavier growing burden on her hand.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The second this woman had entered the studio an unexplainable shiver ran down my spine. It felt as though the whole room temperature had sunk drastically. The aura she emitted was of a dark presence, yet, with her rose-cheeked pale skin silhouette, dressed in a charming and simple rose-beige dress, with her white cello case in one arm, and a pile of older books under the other, she looked like the perfect wife; a woman that every man would dream of.

Her golden hair slightly curled and pulled back on the sides with care embraced her face that was unquestionably beautiful. However, there was something in her stare, that let your bones freeze. Looking into her eyes was like glancing right into death, and yet they were full of life. A Life that seemed to have seen the worst in a mirror of all the pain she had once felt, and yet, her face remained motionless.

The woman silently positioned herself in front of the camera, gently bending her left hand over her stomach so that her right elbow was resting on top of it, with her hand held up in an elegant gesture.

Her stare wandered across the room when it lost itself in the void,
her mind slowly fading away,
more and more,
with each breath,
further and further away,
but something seemed to tear her down. Like there was an anchor holding her back, as one could tell from the pictures that were shot on that day.

Maybe it was her refreshing style, her elegant stature or sophisticated nature that made her look so beautiful and certainly photogenic, but it was that silver ring that had immediately caught my attention. It seemed to lay so heavy on her hand that I assumed people would often stare at it.

That's when I knew why she came to see me, and not just any other photographer, and so I began my work.

....