Polaroid Pictures

A short fictional narrative (1st person, ~1000 words) about one moment affecting a lot of someone's life

I’ve always had a thing for polaroid pictures. I used to have them plastered all over my walls. They outlined each window like lights on a vanity mirror- tiny, glossy memories encapsulated eternally, framed by the piercing contrast of the white border. They didn’t just cover the window and door frames, though. They were taped to my headboard, the ceiling, and even the inside of my closet. I loved how the Autumn sun ricocheted off of them, and sent amber light sprawling across the room. Now it’s spring, the fresh air brings a feeling I have been longing for. The sun is back, but the pictures are gone, leaving the light floating stagnant. Everyone else got their new beginning, and I was stuck in an endless loop of memories, standing still like the sunlight, as the world passed me by.

I started my collection about 10 years ago. All of my babysitting money, loose change I found on the sidewalks and in between couch cushions, the few dollars I was able to make walking dogs, went into buying film and a new camera once the old one wore out. Some of the pictures I took were generic everyday shots of my dog with his long, pink tongue sticking out, pictures everyone could take, but some were more to me- something I found pride in. I was proud of the way I could see beauty and opportunities in things others couldn’t- the water drops on the dewy grass, a lady holding an umbrella hidden in the clouds. The ones I found the most joy in taking, however, were the ones of you. There were at least a dozen of you eating ice cream, and about a hundred from just Christmas and your birthday combined.

Now the walls are nearly bare.

I remember the day that you left- a breezy autumn day nearly half a year ago, October 14th. I came home from whatever errands I was doing that day, back to the home we shared. My windblown hair fluttered back down to my shoulders. You were sitting on the armchair by the fireplace, drink in hand, staring down at your shoes. Your taupe suit, usually neatly pressed, was wrinkled from the weather. I saw the look on your face, the guilt in your  eyes, and my heart dropped along with the bags of groceries in my hand. You didn’t have to say a word. I crumpled to the ground, and felt my heart shatter. After what seemed like an eternity of silence, I stood up, turned to the kitchen, and paused for one, excruciatingly long second.

“Why?” I could hear the word coming out of my mouth, but this voice didn’t sound like my own. The voice I heard was hollow, weak, and more broken than my love for you. When I didn’t get an answer, I walked to the kitchen we never used, and sat. When I came out, you were gone. So was everything else.

The day you left, you packed up your car- all your clothes, the T.V, the silverware, even the rug. That day you left, you took everything. The only things you left behind were me, my polaroid pictures, and my broken heart.

My daily routine is repeated today, but the house I return to is no longer a home. I turn my key in the brass lock, and slide open the mahogany door, the creak of the hinges familiar but not comforting. I slip the key back into my pocket, and step in from the breeze, my footsteps echoing through the empty room. Click, click, click, silence. I hang my purse on the second hook from the right, just like always, and turn until I’m facing the kitchen. I can picture that day, I can almost see it, like ghosts- drifting through the motions. Sometimes I feel like a ghost- I go through the movements, but without feeling it.

Before you left me, I would scan the walls whenever I was bored, reminiscing of  all the times we spent together. All the vacations we took together, holidays we spent snuggled up on the couch watching movies, milestones we reached together, and I’d smile. Not your average school picture day smile, but a warm, fuzzy smile that lit me up inside, sparked a fire in my heart that kept me feeling like that for hours, a stupid, giddy grin adhered to my face.

I haven’t felt that way in a long time.

Before you left me, silence was comfortable and familiar and warm. Now all it is is a reminder of what once was. Like a polaroid picture developing in reverse, I could feel my love fading, my heart shrinking until all that was left was a murky, gray-white gaping hole.

Author's Note

WIP, still need about 200 words, looking for places to add detail.

Reviews

[BloopOwl]

That was absolutely amazing. I don’t think I’m skilled enough to criticize it. The metaphors were unfamiliar so it was quite a refreshing read. You did an amazing job