It Was Winter Again.

Two days had gone by. 100,000 views. No response from her.

Mitchell, sick of trying to draw inspiration from his snowy yard, set out to the park a couple blocks away. He pulled on his navy pea coat, his grey gloves, his black Walmart beanie, and his tattered black vans and was off. The sun was low in the sky as sunset was near. His hands were in his pockets, digging for warmth, and his camera hung heavily on his neck strap. He turned the corner to park. He walked up the snowy path, but soon veered off of it to get closer to the abandoned swing set that seemed to call his name. The snow crunched under his vans and he could feel it kicking up in his socks and melting against his body heat.

Mitchell placed the camera on the picnic table across from the swing set. After it settled into a worn place in the wood, he adjusted the shutter speed and timing. He clicked the button and ran for the swing. He viciously grabbed a hold of it and pulled it into the air before, with all his strength, pushing it down. He stepped out of the shot and heard the shutter open. 1… 2… 3… 4… The swing swung… 6… 7… 8… 9… 10. He stepped back to the camera. What he took was a messy ghost like swing with a setting sun in the distance. The mistake: footprints going to and from the swings. Stupid Mitchell. He sighed and sat down at the table.

After a moment of thought, Mitchell went over to the bushes. He ripped of a branch from an oak tree and went back towards the playground. He carved out the words into the snow in front of the swings. “I thought about you while I swung”. He grabbed his camera off the table and gave the swing a softer push this time. He stood up on the edge of the bench and snapped a couple shots. He looked again. Better, but the colors were brighter than he wanted. He would have to do some editing to make them presentable.

Mitchell looked up to the sky. The stars were beginning to come out and the sun was out of sight. He hadn’t brought his flash or any artificial lighting. He lay back on the table with his hands behind his head. He thought about the nights he had spent here with her. He heard her laugh. The warmth in her voice. It got louder in his ears. He heard a voice that wasn’t hers though. It was low and calm. His eyes flung open and he ran for the bushes. He nestled himself out of sight and looked for an indication of what was going on.

She was coming. He hadn’t seen her in a week. Not since she said good bye. Her tousled blonde hair framed her delicate face and she had a purple flower clip behind her left ear. She wore black wools tights under her favorite lace slip dress. She loved that dress. Her dainty feet were slipped into black skimmers. Her frame was covered in a charcoal wool bomber. The sleeves were long and the fit was baggy, but it looked amazing to Mitchell. It was his jacket.

She was on the arm of a stranger. A well dressed man with a cropped sandy brown hair cut. His face was slightly rugged but his eyes were alive and always on her. She sat him down on the edge of the picnic table. Their feet hanging over the edge. He grabbed her hand and held it close to his heart. Mitchell felt a stab of hot pain administered to his own cavity. He bit his chapped lower lip.

The stranger smiled wide and she returned it. He pressed his lips on hers and kissed her gently. Mitchell looked away. He felt the cool air make his eyes sting and water until they almost overflowed beneath his glasses. He looked back when he heard them talking. Low enough to where he couldn’t hear them, but loud enough to make him yearn for stronger ears.

The streetlight flickered on over them. They were illuminated against the dark sky. Mitchell pursed his lips and turned his camera on. He lifted it to his eye and focused on the pair. The tears streaked down his face, each becoming just another ice crystal to cover the wooded area. He snapped the shot. It was a good one too. But at that point he was to hurt to care. He crept out of the bushes, undetected, and found his way home.

Mitchell forgoed his grandparents watching Wheel of Fortune and went straight to his room. He shut the door and flicked on the lights. He sat the camera on his desk and sat down. He tried to control each tear that seeped out the corners of his eyes but it was like juggling a dozen things at once. He rubbed his eyes raw at an attempt to keep his composure. He uploaded the photos and edited them. He printed them out. Then he collected his things. Tripod, Camera, Backdrop, Lights.

The recording light came on. “So I went to the park today. Tried to think this whole thing through. Brought my camera, but this is all I could manage to take.” He held up the picture of the swing with the spelled out words beneath it. “And I started thinking that maybe this lack of inspiration is supposed to tell me something. It became clear to me that you were my inspiration. You were the flint that sparked my fire. Now my whole life is built around creativity, but how can creativity be expressed without inspiration? I just don’t think it can. I’ve never done anything without a meaning in my life. But now I’m living without one. So just as I come to these realizations, I stumble upon this.” Mitchell holds up the second photo. The exposure is blurry and unfocused except for one thing. “You. But not just you in all your beauty and air. No, no. I come across my jacket. My worn in wool bomber covering you and protecting you from the cold and the stranger. I don’t know how to take it. Half of me wants to scream and shout and think it means that you still love me, but the other side of me just wants to break down and admit defeat to the stranger who accompanied you tonight. But which side should I believe? You tell me?”

Straight to YouTube. Title: The Winter Diaries Part 2.