✩ X-Files: Scopophilia (The Stop Motion Remix)
✩ [ Dana Scully/Anonymous gender-neutral cameraperson | PG-13 | 200 words ]
In between the rush of the reel and the stillness of a snapshot, there she is, waiting to be captured.
Original story: scopophilia by projectjulie, 123 words.
Remix author: trascendenza
Socophilia (The Stop Motion Remix)
(When she looks at me, all she sees is a camera: invasion of her space. When I look at her, all I see is obscured by glass: qualities and intensities of light.)
As it turns out, Special Agent Scully and I are staying at the same hotel-unbeknownst to me until I’d scattered a sheaf full of negatives across the floor of the lobby. Tucking red strands behind her ear, she helps me re-assemble the puzzle, the gray-and-white-mosaic, calm and collected even as she sees herself in the fractured pieces, angles of her face reflected in inverted colors on white tile.
It was easy to offer her a drink, and later, to tell her how beautiful she looks in two dimensions; I’m astonished when she throws her head back and laughs. Later still, she lets me caress more laughter from the arced curve of her throat. This time, only I can hear her.
(Where others see the world in motion, I see a sequence of interrupted stills.) The drapes part and let in splashes of neon light. Lying awake, I let my eyes become the camera, and capture Dana colored with the palette of the city’s colors: the perfect canvas.
In between the rush of the reel and the stillness of a snapshot, there she is, waiting to be captured.
Original story: scopophilia by projectjulie, 123 words.
Remix author: trascendenza
Socophilia (The Stop Motion Remix)
(When she looks at me, all she sees is a camera: invasion of her space. When I look at her, all I see is obscured by glass: qualities and intensities of light.)
As it turns out, Special Agent Scully and I are staying at the same hotel-unbeknownst to me until I’d scattered a sheaf full of negatives across the floor of the lobby. Tucking red strands behind her ear, she helps me re-assemble the puzzle, the gray-and-white-mosaic, calm and collected even as she sees herself in the fractured pieces, angles of her face reflected in inverted colors on white tile.
It was easy to offer her a drink, and later, to tell her how beautiful she looks in two dimensions; I’m astonished when she throws her head back and laughs. Later still, she lets me caress more laughter from the arced curve of her throat. This time, only I can hear her.
(Where others see the world in motion, I see a sequence of interrupted stills.) The drapes part and let in splashes of neon light. Lying awake, I let my eyes become the camera, and capture Dana colored with the palette of the city’s colors: the perfect canvas.