Pictures

When her children were young she had taken scores Instamatic snapshots. In these photographs, they seemed to have been frozen by the flesh-bleaching flashbulb, stunned faces and red glowing eyes making them look like newly spawned demons.

She’d kept these photos in a box in her closet.

One day she carried the box to the garbage and that was that.

She hadn’t spoken to any of them for years.

One Christmas her son David sent her a brand-new Olympus digital camera.

It was gift-wrapped. There was no card.

She still wonders why David thought she would ever need a camera.

Friday Fictioneers