Photographs of the Dead

Jeremy opens his eyes and stares at the dingy ceiling. He had been looking at it so much lately that he could trace all of its cracks and water stains with closed eyes.

His eyes roam slowly, finally settling on a particularly large stain in the shape of a chair. He shudders and sits up, shaking away his thoughts. His eyes glaze over as he gazes half-heartedly at his surroundings, from the filthy toilet to the tattered bookshelf.

Slowly, he stands, shuffling to the shelf containing all of his worldly possessions. The only thing he truly cares about however, is his photo album. It is, after all his only link to the past, and it is a true miracle that he has it in the first place.

Taking the book gingerly from the shelf, he fingers the spine lightly before perching on his bed, and opening it carefully to the first page.

The sheet is covered with his first girl, Elizabeth. Her curly blonde hair, styled with several pastel pink ribbons, and the top of a pink sundress was visible in the frame. The rising sun highlights her plaintive blue eyes, which seem to call Jeremy. His eyes close in response as her form jumps onto the back of his eyelids.

She had been extremely quiet for an eight year old. That was what had called her to his attention after all. She always wore pink, and sat at the very back of his second grade classroom. And those blue eyes of hers, they were always so sad. Everyone was tremendously heartbroken when she went missing.

“No…they can’t be gone…” He whimpers, looking forlornly at the aged Kodak. His eyes take on a hard glint as he focuses on those clear blue eyes.

“NO!” He screams, flinging the album across the ten-foot wide room. It smacks the wall, and slides down where it lands in a heap on the floor. His breathing is harsh and ragged as he glares at the book.

His eyes seemingly burn holes in the red cover of the album as the little sailboat on the front mocks him coolly.

Gradually, he calms down and runs an oily hand through his stringy brown hair. Once finished, it reforms its original clumped mattiness.

Slumping, he stands back up and retrieves the book, like a child clings to a decomposing security blanket, before retreating to the comfort of his cot. He opens the book again, staring briefly at Elizabeth before turning the page.

A knock at the door causes him to jump. His friends Michael and Gabriel enter his humble abode, just as they always do.

“Was the dinner to your liking?” Michael asks blankly.

Jeremy glances halfheartedly at the partially devoured Veal, rare of course, his favorite meal. He nods meekly in reply.

“Just let us know if there’s anything else we can do for you.” Gabriel’s voice has a certain edge to it, making Jeremy cringe a little in response.

With that, the pair exit the room and Jeremy’s attention returns to his clutched album.

The next girl in the book was Lucy. She never talked, although she was capable, and her short black hair often hid her dazzling green eyes. She had been a smart child at nine, her favorite subject being science. She always dressed in dark colors, and would have probably turned into a Goth as a teenager. The morning sun brought her pale skin into sharp contrast with the ebony hair settling chaotically on her shoulders.

Upon seeing her small and diminished figure, he begins to pray.

“Please…please…I’ll do anything.” His voice wavers as tears start to flow in torrents from his hollow eyes to his withered cheeks. After several minutes, he quiets, his sobs echoing bleakly off the damp stone walls. “Please. Just let him call. I’ll never ask for anything again. Please.”

He wasn’t speaking to anyone in particular. He never really believed in god. He wishes he did now; it might make things easier. Although he seriously doubts heaven would accept him.

The silence of the room mocks him, taunting his ridiculous plea. Weeping inconsolably now he flips several pages to the next girl, Laura. Her frightened stare chills him to the bone. Now he is the trapped animal. He finds that after years of wondering what that feels like, he doesn’t really like it.

Laura’s auburn hair fell in two identical pigtails, sweeping down and off the page, glinting in the afternoon sun. Her brown eyes had the same terrified intensity of a wild rabbit. She had been a fearful girl, and had several nervous conditions ranging from nibbled fingernails to her ever-twitching feet.

Wallowing in his own self-pity, he turns the page yet again to see Meredith staring bemusedly back at him.

Her red hair glows vibrantly in the setting sun over the bay, green eyes glittering as brightly as her personality. She had been very close to her mother, and didn’t ever keep any secrets from her. She was as bold as he was foolish, and it was this very fact that had sentenced him.

“Meredith. Meredith. Merydeth. Merydeath. Merry Death.” The words hang heavy in the damp air. Upon saying them out loud, his sagging form seems to straighten. He is ready.

Memories swarm about him in a frenzied torrent. Meredith, unlike the others had told her mother the first time he had relieved himself with her. The arresting officer’s sickened face as he dragged Jeremy, kicking and screaming from his now ransacked house. He remembers Meredith’s tear dampened face as she pointed a quivering finger at him from the witness stand. The echo of the gavel rings in Jeremy’s head. And last but not least, his bargain, his photo album and camera for the locations of the shallow graves.

Slowly, he drags himself to the bookshelf where his camera is waiting patiently for him. He caresses it fondly, remembering all of the wonderful times they shared together. Facing it toward himself, he presses the shutter and allows the undeveloped picture to flutter delicately to the floor.

Stooping, he picks it gingerly up by the corner, so as not to smudge the quickly developing photograph. He smiles as his waning figure appears in the center, cloaked in darkness. Moving back to the bed, he tenderly places the image onto the last page of his photo album.

“There. It’s finished.”

Jeremy stands rigidly and marches to the window where he stares at the blackening sky. The stars beckon to him through the bars, little pinpricks of light forming intricate patterns in the quilted black abyss. Only the moon is absent from its glorified seat in the center of the universe.

An hour later, the guards Michael and Gabriel come for Jeremy. The clock strikes midnight as the switch is pulled. The governor does not call.

Thank you for reading, and please comment ;P

-Myself