[Original: Drabble] "Photographic Memories" [Zeke Jones, G]
Title: Photographic Memories
Prompt: writerverse challenge #03 march mini table of doom, prompt #02 ‘family photos’
Word Count: 253
Rating: G
Original/Fandom: original ( Zeke Jones ‘verse)
Summary: Sometimes, photographs are all that are left.
Note(s): originally posted to the writerverse wv_library
Photographic Memories
There was a tintype on the mantel of Howell’s downtown brownstone, the portrait of a young woman. I couldn’t tell if her bright, cheerful smile was like my partner’s, because I’d never seen him look that happy, but even in the sepia-colored picture, I could tell that she had the same pale blue eyes.
I’d been there for six full moons before he told me who she was. I’d guessed the first time I saw the picture, from the few pieces of his past that Howell had mentioned, but I hadn’t asked, even though I’d been pretty honest about snooping through his stuff once he was back to human form.
“My younger sister,” Howell said. “It’s the only picture I have of her. The first extra shift I did, after I joined the police force, I paid to have her portrait done, and she was so excited. My parents wouldn’t let me have their picture taken. Told me to save my money for something important. One of the few things I regret, now.”
I thought of all the photos I had of my parents, boxes and boxes and photo albums- pictures from their childhoods, school photos, prom pictures and candid shots, their wedding album and pictures of the day I was born, photos of their smiles and recordings of their voices and videos of their laughter.
And none of it could ever make up for losing them.
“Yeah,” I said, and leaned against Howell’s shoulder, for once content to just stand there, quietly.
THE END
Current Mood:
busy
Prompt: writerverse challenge #03 march mini table of doom, prompt #02 ‘family photos’
Word Count: 253
Rating: G
Original/Fandom: original ( Zeke Jones ‘verse)
Summary: Sometimes, photographs are all that are left.
Note(s): originally posted to the writerverse wv_library
Photographic Memories
There was a tintype on the mantel of Howell’s downtown brownstone, the portrait of a young woman. I couldn’t tell if her bright, cheerful smile was like my partner’s, because I’d never seen him look that happy, but even in the sepia-colored picture, I could tell that she had the same pale blue eyes.
I’d been there for six full moons before he told me who she was. I’d guessed the first time I saw the picture, from the few pieces of his past that Howell had mentioned, but I hadn’t asked, even though I’d been pretty honest about snooping through his stuff once he was back to human form.
“My younger sister,” Howell said. “It’s the only picture I have of her. The first extra shift I did, after I joined the police force, I paid to have her portrait done, and she was so excited. My parents wouldn’t let me have their picture taken. Told me to save my money for something important. One of the few things I regret, now.”
I thought of all the photos I had of my parents, boxes and boxes and photo albums- pictures from their childhoods, school photos, prom pictures and candid shots, their wedding album and pictures of the day I was born, photos of their smiles and recordings of their voices and videos of their laughter.
And none of it could ever make up for losing them.
“Yeah,” I said, and leaned against Howell’s shoulder, for once content to just stand there, quietly.
THE END
Current Mood:
busy