The edges of the photograph are torn, smeared with the color of charcoal. In the center stand four figures. One is tall, smiling, has dark hair and tawny skin. His arm drapes over the shoulder of another, a woman with only half a smile, a pale face and golden hair. Between them are two children, a small boy, perhaps five or six, with short brown hair and baggy clothing, and a girl of about twelve, her auburn hair tied into a tail. The boy smiles a fat innocent smile. The girl smiles too, but something in her expression echoes the woman's; the girl has the same half-smile, the same shape of face and mouth, the same subtle hint that inside she is not smiling at all.
The photograph flaps in the breeze. It is held in place with a dirty thumb. A cracked and sharp fingernail, once painted, but now chipped away, sits upon it. The nail's jagged edge matches the frayed edge of the photograph. The hand presses the photo to the ground, smearing its backside in mud, then reaches out and presses the photo against a brick wall. The wind jostles the image, but it stays on the wall.
The hand reaches down into a green metal box and pulls out another photograph. It is not torn along the edges like the last. Fingers grasp the image, smearing its white edges with blackened dust.
In this moment of frozen time, there is a blue, cloudless sky. In front of the sky, a spacecraft sits huge and oppressive. Its gleaming metal hull reflects the afternoon sun into a brilliant flare. Four men in white coveralls stand before the ship with wide and beaming smiles. They each have a hand on a large, white sign. It reads, "Pegasus-Seagull Project Team." Underneath is a symbol of a flying horse leaping over an atom, along with the signatures of each of the men.
The dirty thumb slides over the picture and stops on the second man, the dark-haired, tawny-skinned one from the first photograph. The dusty hand reaches toward the ground, then presses the image onto the wall next to the first. It flaps in the breeze with a black thumbprint on its face.
The hand reaches down into the metal box and pulls out another photo. It is a forest of young conifers. All the trees are only a few meters tall, and behind them, just poking out from the sides of the saplings, are barren fields of orange sand and stone. This picture, too, is placed on the wall.
As the hand reaches for another photo, a strong gust of wind whips past. Pictures fly out of the green metal box like birds taking flight. The hand is still, makes no attempt to stop the flock from following the wind. The wind exhales, sighs, and dies down again, and then the hand continues reaching into the box.
The next photograph is of a garden. The young girl from the first picture is here, laughing as she bends over the soil, tending to a fledgling plant. There is a lightness in her smile that was not in the first picture. She is younger here, her face bright with life. In the background is a golden-haired pregnant woman with a pallid face. She sits on a chair before the garden. Her eyes are solemn and heavy, looking away. Behind her, encircling the yard, is a red brick wall. Young conifer trees just begin to peek over its crest.
A clear drop of liquid falls onto the image, rolls, then spills onto the ground below.
This photograph is placed on the wall with the others. A steady, but timid gust of wind blows by. The flock of photographs in the green metal box stay grounded, but the pictures on the wall bend, and one breaks free. It is the photo of the man, the woman, and the two children. It flies away into the breeze with barely a sound. There is a long pause before another photo is taken out of the box.
The thumb grasps a photo of the dark-haired, tawny-skinned man. He wears a yellow hardhat and the same white coveralls as he stands on a gangway. Behind him is a monstrous column of machinery. Its twisted and intricate complexities mask its true size, but its scale is immense. To the right of the man, barely visible, is a sign that reads, "Danger! Highly Sensitive Instrumentation! Multiple Radiation Hazards! Use Utmost Caution On This Tier!"
A second hand comes up quickly from the side and helps the first tear the image into a dozen pieces. It brings with it a dozen fluid red streaks, speckled black with dirt and dust. With the next gust of wind the hands let go and the pieces drift away.
There is a long pause before the hand continues. A fine black and grey mist begins to blow with the wind and settle onto everything. Another photograph is drawn from the box. It is the last one.
The golden-haired, pale-faced woman holds a newborn in her arms. She smiles softly, but there is a weight to it. Next to her is the girl. They stand in a grassy field, with three houses and a very large building in the distance behind them. The girl's hand reaches out to a white wooden sign perched upon a stake into the ground. The sign reads, "Pegasus Planet, population10." In the girl's hand is a pen which is in the middle of crossing out the "10" and making it into an "11."
A dozen clear drops fall onto the image, and then the image is set free, flying away into the grey mist. The box sits empty.
The hands sit idle for a time, twitching silently. They slowly glide up to a bloody and pale face, to once golden hair, now grey with ash. Broken pieces of the red brick wall lie shattered around a ruined garden. Behind the wall, extending to the horizon, a forest lies black, bent and obliterated, as if lightning has struck each and every tree. On the hill, a gaping hole in an enormous building spills out columns of black and acrid smoke.
The woman is still before the brick wall. She watches the photos sway with each passing gust. One by one, the pictures tear free of the wall and fly away. She stares ahead, her eyes slowly closing, as a soft gust of wind blows through her. She exhales and sighs, and gives her last breath to the wind.
~The End~ Story by Matthew Kressel © 2004
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