Day 56: Photograph
Write a story or journal entry influenced by a photograph.
If you looked at the photographs long enough, you disappeared in them.
That's what Jasmine Connor did. Jasmine Connor has been missing for 13 days.
No one believed him. He saw her disappear right in front of him. They'd been getting high in his basement when she started talking to him about a set of old photographs she had found while browsing through the only vintage shop left in their town. She was showing him a stack, mostly of people standing uncomfortably in 1910s clothing and making jokes about their grim faces.
"These are my favorite ones though," she said, pulling two from the pile. They showed a beach in a place called Haverford Point circa 1912. "They're just so... serene."
She took a hit from the joint he had rolled and stared at the photos with a smile on her face. "So serene."
He took a hit and laid back, watching her smile. He was about to say something when something strange happen. She started to look... fuzzy?
"So serene," she repeated, but this time her voice wasn't as loud and clear as it had been. It was faint.
"Uh, Jasmine?" He started to say, but all of sudden she was gone. The photographs she had been holding fell softly onto the seat where she used to be. "What the fuck?"
He leapt off the couch and looked around the room. "JASMINE?!"
He ran around his small, studio apartment but it was immediately clear that she was no longer in the space. He ran over to where she had been sitting and grabbed the photographs, in a desperate attempt to figure out what was going on. Then he noticed something: a girl had appeared in both photographs.
In the first photo, she was standing with her back to the camera on the beach, with her feet digging into the sand underneath her. In the second photo, she was in the water, with only her head above the waves.
He squinted his eyes. "Jasmine?" He said, softly.
No one believed him. They even took him in for questioning but since there was no body or any sign of foul play, they couldn't hold him for much longer. Every night since she disappeared, he stared hard at the photos, looking at her, staring until he fell asleep.
Part of him wished the photographs would take him too.
“Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.”