Warning. May contain NSFW themes or triggering themes. Read with caution.
(First person tales for Drabbles)
Chapter four:
I must of stared at the photos of Moira for months. Just looking at her from all the
angles I had and trying to figure out which one I liked most. They were all
beautiful in this morbid sense and I just couldn't quite understand what I liked
about it.
With so many idols growing up they offered me so much for all different reasons.
-Eliot Porter: A man that could make nature stand out with his vibrant colors of
life.
-Brassaï: An amazing street Photography who captured life, people, cities and
buildings with such class and culture.
Ansel Adams: Landscape master with the appeal of Black and white scenery.
Don McCullin: War photographer who captured the hearts and souls of people
through the struggles.
I could honestly talk about them and more for hours on end, but they all brought
something to the table that made them stand out.
Growing up, I took pictures of landscape, trees, flowers, birds, rail tracks,
homes....there was no city for me, not until I reached New York. I was still
adapting my vision
Yet I was, looking at death as an inspiration. People had dabbled with it in the
past like Jeffrey Silverthorne. He did specialised but....there were was something missing that could be improved on.
What could make it stand out more?
Chapter five:
Photography wasn't just a hobby, it was a love...it was a passion.
While working with forensic, I was doing night classes that my father paid for. I
gave him my word like he did his, but he wanted me to have a back-up
education. I fulfilled my fathers wishes with a course in English and journalism. I
kept myself busy since the age of nineteen.
My Twenty-first birthday came. Working now as a forensic photographer for three
years and never had I found someone like Moira Daniels.
I actually was excited whenever I heard calls of a murder, or crime scene.
Excited to turn up and see a masterpiece waiting to be captured by my camera.
Excited to witness this morbidly-beautiful scene. But.......I was left disappointed
each time.
Most murders were messy and covered in blood. Broken body parts, severed
body parts on a creative day for a killer. Nothing was ever pristine for me to enjoy.
So on my birthday, the 14th of December, I didn't get the gift I was aching to find.
And it had already
been sixteen months since Moira.
I was losing my patience.
Chapter six
I woke up the next day,I actually remember it so well. It was Saturday,
the15th of
December, the day after my birthday and i was feeling frustrated.
My photos weren't how I wanted them, the right shots around the city didn't come
out good enough. I wasn't able to capture
what I needed, it was like I had no clarity. And all I could think about was Moira.
She was there with me, but it wasn't 'her' that I wanted. It was......the art.
Having woken up and all you could think about was death. It played a toll on me
that whole day.
Over, and over, and over again. It just wouldn't stop until I had this crazy thought
in my head.....Create my own.
I waited for the sun to settle. The darkness taking over and left my home for a
drive.
I had no idea where I was going, not a damn clue. Simply Driving around and
around.
Hours passed, I had driven out of my own area until I reached Lower east side.
Reaching the Red light, I stopped naturally before I heard a tap on the widow.
Looking over, there was a woman: Dark hair, revealing clothing, skirt and fishnet
tights.
She wasn't the most attractive, and honestly, she reminded me of my mother with
her hair style. But I invited her in: She accepted....
