Sequel: Bleeding Wrath and Perfect Serenity ›
Dead at 15
March (the 'Depressed' Photographer)
Two of my sisters were dead. I wasn't stupid. I knew it wasn't just a coincidence, as much as everyone else wanted to believe. Just because I didn't talk much or particularly ‘brighten up’ a room, didn't mean I was stupid. They thought I was ignorant. They were wrong. I saw everything.
But honestly, where was the common sense? People don’t drop dead of their own accord, nor on their birthdays and at a specific age too. I was just surprised that no one had bothered to properly investigate. Wasn't this all a little strange? I certainly thought so. I mean, January was hit by a car and then February just happened to poison herself. Something was seriously wrong here, and it frustrated the hell out of me because no one else could see it!
I did something no one else did.
I showed some shred of intelligence .
I documented.
I was a photographer, had been since I was seven when my late grandfather left a Polaroid camera to me in his will. I kept every picture I ever took. They littered my walls and ceiling even. Once I heard the news about January, my first reaction was to go into shock but when I thought about it, it seemed just the slightest bit abnormal.
Like I said, no one just drops dead of their own accord. This seemed planned. I got scared, but that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. It made me consider the oddity of the situation – the fear urged me to consider the possibilities. What if it happened again? What if this was foul play? So I started taking more photos. The only time the strap left my neck was when I showered or slept, but even then it was kept close-by on my nightstand.
I started getting more and more anxious as February’s birthday drew nearer. I was paranoid, but I had a hunch. Paranoia doesn't mean that you’re not right. Again, I took more pictures. Hundreds more photos gained their places on my walls. Nothing seemed out of place, just like with the days leading up to January’s death (I'd thoroughly checked the photos I took around that time.) Nothing particularly drew my attention and everyone around me remained oblivious to the possible demise of February. The day of, was another story, of course.
I was the one that found her. It was around six-thirty in the morning and I could tell that she hadn't been gone too long. I didn't touch anything apart from my camera. I took pictures from every angle I could manage. Once I was done, I collected the photos up and threw them on my bed before finding an empty shoebox. I arranged the pictures in order of times taken, tied a rubber band so they’d stay that way and shoved the box under my bed. It was only then that I stepped back into the kitchen, allowed the tears to stream down my face, and screamed.
Now I was fucking shit-scared, excuse my language, because I was now fifteen. I was next, and by God did I know it. I also knew that it wouldn't end with me. My sisters were all going to die if I couldn't find out who murdered January and February. And yet, the probability of me finding the killer, wasn't exactly high. I'd left it too long. If I couldn't find the murderer, and I knew that I wouldn't, I had to provide someone else with the evidence to do so. The inevitable doom of the situation sent me over the edge and I was keen to photograph my last few days alive as much as possible. I was just hoping like hell that someone would find my photos. I had to make sure of it.
***
“Here Marchy! Me and Cember painted this for you,” November said as she thrust a painting of a dog and three stick figures at me. We’d always wanted a dog, but couldn't get one because Mom was allergic. I smiled at the two little ones and they looked at me expectantly.
“Whoa! You two made this? It’s amazing! Who knew we’d have two little artists in the family?” I said and their faces lit up. “Thank you guys so much! It’s beautiful.” I hugged the two of them before Mom brought out a cake in the shape of, yeah, a camera.
“Okay girls!” She said and my nine (live) sisters began singing my funeral tune.
“Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday dear MARCH! Happy birthday to you!” I blew out the candles before Dad came in with the knife and cut the cake into squares. He gave me the biggest piece and I smiled at him. It was vanilla, my favorite. I then put the plate down on the table and snapped a picture.
***
I laced up my classic black and white Converse before reaching for the door handle.
“March?” A voice called.
“Yes Mom?” I asked as she appeared.
“You going to the park again?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. No longer than two hours though. Your sisters would like to watch a movie or something.”
“Yup. Love you. Bye.”
I kissed her cheek before heading outside, tugging at the sleeves of my black hoodie. My hands trembled as I took my first photo from the front step, sending chills up my spine as I heard the, oh so familiar click of the camera. Death was calling for me. I could feel its breath down my back, and it wasn't a pleasant feeling at all.
***
I'd loved the park, ever since I was a little kid. It was my sanctuary. I could take the most beautiful photographs there - well at least the scenes were beautiful, I was never so sure about the photos. It was a place where no one else ventured and I loved the solitary air hanging about. The swings were broken, the slide was cracked and split at the bottom, and all things metal had rusted. It had that certain magic about it though. It always beckoned for me to return.
The thing I adored most however, was the tree. It was massive, with tonnes of sturdy branches to climb. I never bothered to find out what species it was but c’mon, who did that? All I knew was that I would climb it as high as I could every time I went there.
I snapped another frame as I stepped towards the trunk of the tree. I waited for it to develop then slipped it into my messenger bag, and it joined the many other shots I’d taken on my way.
I began my ascent up the tree, stopping at random places to take a few photos. I finally came to rest on the branch with the best curve for my ass. The sky was a mesmerizing blood red color and I couldn't resist looking up at it till my thoughts became a whirl of red chaos which I didn't want to decipher. That was when I heard the sound which rocked me to my core. Something or more likely, someone else, was there.
What was that? There it is again! That rustling noise…could it be an animal? No! Wait, don’t be stupid. It’s not an animal! You’ve never seen any kind of animal here before. You’ve seen enough horror movies to know that something’s not right here March! For pity’s sake.
I suddenly became alert. My ears were twitching and I could feel my heart in my throat. I took another few shots with my camera, shoving them in my messenger bag once they developed. I needed to move. I knew that much. If I was going to fight, I needed to have the advantage. I wasn't strong at all due to a complete lack of muscle and by that point, I was really wishing that I carried a gun, something that would’ve been able protect me. But unfortunately, I didn't.
I let myself drop to the branch below me. I didn't consider it a major risk. I did it all the time. This branch was the widest and thickest on the tree, not to mention, I’d been climbing for years. I had acquired a certain balance over the years. I wasn't about to fall.
I snapped a photo to my left, out of the tree and pulled out a bit of plastic. I wrapped the now developed photo in it before dropping it to the ground, I had to leave something that proved I was there, something that would arouse curiosity, maybe. Then the hairs on the back of my neck stood to attention and I turned around slowly. Needless to say, I was completely and utterly shocked at who stood on the branch with me.
Yeah, completely and utterly dead.
March Sarah Lambert
03/22/85-03/22/00
But honestly, where was the common sense? People don’t drop dead of their own accord, nor on their birthdays and at a specific age too. I was just surprised that no one had bothered to properly investigate. Wasn't this all a little strange? I certainly thought so. I mean, January was hit by a car and then February just happened to poison herself. Something was seriously wrong here, and it frustrated the hell out of me because no one else could see it!
I did something no one else did.
I showed some shred of intelligence .
I documented.
I was a photographer, had been since I was seven when my late grandfather left a Polaroid camera to me in his will. I kept every picture I ever took. They littered my walls and ceiling even. Once I heard the news about January, my first reaction was to go into shock but when I thought about it, it seemed just the slightest bit abnormal.
Like I said, no one just drops dead of their own accord. This seemed planned. I got scared, but that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. It made me consider the oddity of the situation – the fear urged me to consider the possibilities. What if it happened again? What if this was foul play? So I started taking more photos. The only time the strap left my neck was when I showered or slept, but even then it was kept close-by on my nightstand.
I started getting more and more anxious as February’s birthday drew nearer. I was paranoid, but I had a hunch. Paranoia doesn't mean that you’re not right. Again, I took more pictures. Hundreds more photos gained their places on my walls. Nothing seemed out of place, just like with the days leading up to January’s death (I'd thoroughly checked the photos I took around that time.) Nothing particularly drew my attention and everyone around me remained oblivious to the possible demise of February. The day of, was another story, of course.
I was the one that found her. It was around six-thirty in the morning and I could tell that she hadn't been gone too long. I didn't touch anything apart from my camera. I took pictures from every angle I could manage. Once I was done, I collected the photos up and threw them on my bed before finding an empty shoebox. I arranged the pictures in order of times taken, tied a rubber band so they’d stay that way and shoved the box under my bed. It was only then that I stepped back into the kitchen, allowed the tears to stream down my face, and screamed.
Now I was fucking shit-scared, excuse my language, because I was now fifteen. I was next, and by God did I know it. I also knew that it wouldn't end with me. My sisters were all going to die if I couldn't find out who murdered January and February. And yet, the probability of me finding the killer, wasn't exactly high. I'd left it too long. If I couldn't find the murderer, and I knew that I wouldn't, I had to provide someone else with the evidence to do so. The inevitable doom of the situation sent me over the edge and I was keen to photograph my last few days alive as much as possible. I was just hoping like hell that someone would find my photos. I had to make sure of it.
***
“Here Marchy! Me and Cember painted this for you,” November said as she thrust a painting of a dog and three stick figures at me. We’d always wanted a dog, but couldn't get one because Mom was allergic. I smiled at the two little ones and they looked at me expectantly.
“Whoa! You two made this? It’s amazing! Who knew we’d have two little artists in the family?” I said and their faces lit up. “Thank you guys so much! It’s beautiful.” I hugged the two of them before Mom brought out a cake in the shape of, yeah, a camera.
“Okay girls!” She said and my nine (live) sisters began singing my funeral tune.
“Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday dear MARCH! Happy birthday to you!” I blew out the candles before Dad came in with the knife and cut the cake into squares. He gave me the biggest piece and I smiled at him. It was vanilla, my favorite. I then put the plate down on the table and snapped a picture.
***
I laced up my classic black and white Converse before reaching for the door handle.
“March?” A voice called.
“Yes Mom?” I asked as she appeared.
“You going to the park again?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. No longer than two hours though. Your sisters would like to watch a movie or something.”
“Yup. Love you. Bye.”
I kissed her cheek before heading outside, tugging at the sleeves of my black hoodie. My hands trembled as I took my first photo from the front step, sending chills up my spine as I heard the, oh so familiar click of the camera. Death was calling for me. I could feel its breath down my back, and it wasn't a pleasant feeling at all.
***
I'd loved the park, ever since I was a little kid. It was my sanctuary. I could take the most beautiful photographs there - well at least the scenes were beautiful, I was never so sure about the photos. It was a place where no one else ventured and I loved the solitary air hanging about. The swings were broken, the slide was cracked and split at the bottom, and all things metal had rusted. It had that certain magic about it though. It always beckoned for me to return.
The thing I adored most however, was the tree. It was massive, with tonnes of sturdy branches to climb. I never bothered to find out what species it was but c’mon, who did that? All I knew was that I would climb it as high as I could every time I went there.
I snapped another frame as I stepped towards the trunk of the tree. I waited for it to develop then slipped it into my messenger bag, and it joined the many other shots I’d taken on my way.
I began my ascent up the tree, stopping at random places to take a few photos. I finally came to rest on the branch with the best curve for my ass. The sky was a mesmerizing blood red color and I couldn't resist looking up at it till my thoughts became a whirl of red chaos which I didn't want to decipher. That was when I heard the sound which rocked me to my core. Something or more likely, someone else, was there.
What was that? There it is again! That rustling noise…could it be an animal? No! Wait, don’t be stupid. It’s not an animal! You’ve never seen any kind of animal here before. You’ve seen enough horror movies to know that something’s not right here March! For pity’s sake.
I suddenly became alert. My ears were twitching and I could feel my heart in my throat. I took another few shots with my camera, shoving them in my messenger bag once they developed. I needed to move. I knew that much. If I was going to fight, I needed to have the advantage. I wasn't strong at all due to a complete lack of muscle and by that point, I was really wishing that I carried a gun, something that would’ve been able protect me. But unfortunately, I didn't.
I let myself drop to the branch below me. I didn't consider it a major risk. I did it all the time. This branch was the widest and thickest on the tree, not to mention, I’d been climbing for years. I had acquired a certain balance over the years. I wasn't about to fall.
I snapped a photo to my left, out of the tree and pulled out a bit of plastic. I wrapped the now developed photo in it before dropping it to the ground, I had to leave something that proved I was there, something that would arouse curiosity, maybe. Then the hairs on the back of my neck stood to attention and I turned around slowly. Needless to say, I was completely and utterly shocked at who stood on the branch with me.
Yeah, completely and utterly dead.
March Sarah Lambert
03/22/85-03/22/00