Flicker and Snaps

The Hasselblad 500c/m was invented 1957 by the Victor Hasselblad AB.

Persperation hung like heavy dew-drops upon my upper lip. Sweat clung to my body cooling me off in the wake of this horendous heat. The pressure of my Hasselblad camera's strap (which was secured safely around my neck) brought comfort to me. I did my best thinking when I was shooting, and after the worst Monday- in the history of horrible Mondays- I needed time to think and be alone. The urge to get out of the house and be free from confusing people, and unexplainable events, lead me to a familiar obsession: my camera.

My face washopefully scrunched up into a grimace as my feet scraped against the rough grass. The crunching sound that followed as my flipflops made contact with the disagreeable ground caused me to shiver.

Having to wear shorts and a T-shirt was bad enough- but flipflops, now that was the rue of my existance! Yet, here I was outside wearing those disgusting shoes. I've always been and always will be a closed shoe girl. The texture of my bare feet against the cheep plastic or even worse: foam, was enough to make me cringe! I hated the way when wearing flipflops my feet were exposed. I did not like my body even having the posability of rubbing against dirt, grass, and/or mud. Sadly, because of the heat, it was unbearable to wear any other shoe. I pulled one of my hands across my forehead wiping off sweat as I walked around my new yard.

Yard was a word I placed loosly, because this space behind Chad's house hardly fit the criteria for a normal backyard. A normal backyard was a stretch of green, most likely enclosed by some hidious fence, containing mismatched lawn chairs, a grill, and perhaps a swing or pool. This never ending horison of land had none of those things; it was not reasonably sized or had some chipper looking white fence around it, mismatched lawn chairs would never dare to grace this thicket of green, and as for the swing-unless you're talking about the hundred-year-old one hanging like a death wish from one of the over abundent trees you'd be sadly disapointed. You'd think being filthy rich Chad would at least put in an amazing pool, the olimpic sized one with the built-in water slide, but of course not; apparently the boys (meaning Cicil, Gage, and Co.) found the pond out back; yes, the grungy leach infested, snapping turtle holding, and hypothetically crocodile housing pond, adequate.

This meant that the backyard held none of the key points to being a legitamate backyard! Instead of the practical yard, we had an unmeasurable land filled with like a billion small buildings that had served some purpose at one time or another. I couldn't even guess how much Chad forked over on upkeep and gardening. It made for interesting pictures at least.

My fingers curled around the sides of my square Hasselblad 500c/m camera, eyes zeroed in on the white pot that looked almost yellow in the light. I was trying to get it at the right angle perfect for the shot, regrettably meaning I had to stretch out on the ground, my camera's metal magazine laying inches to my right. My skin shivered slightly as it made contact with the grass; art-like beauty- was pain so I stayed where I was enduring the annoyance. I was laying at the bottom of a steep hill, the pot placed just in view the sun hitting it just right that it lit the pot up like a Christmas tree.



After winding up the crank on the side of the camera my finger inched towards the shutter-release button. Hasselblad 500c/m cameras only shoot at the moderate top speed of 1/500th of a second which had worried critics when the camera first came out in 1957 now though it's greatly accepted as being a moderate shutter speed. Personally I prefer this speed apposed to other camera speeds. I could barely stop myself from pressing the button as something obstructed my perfect shot.

More like someone- I started to call out to the person stopping as I realized it was Cicil. I wouldn't have thought much of it if he hadn't stopped. I watched from my hiding place as he looked around, maybe for me? Or, perhaps to make sure no one was around... After he deemed the place safe (missing me obviously) I watched him slip a heavy looking black book bag off his shoulder. Checking again to see if he was alone he then opened the bag the sound of the zipper slicing through the silence of the evening caused him to jump a bit. Now I knew something was up, why was he so jumpy? Cautiously checking over his shoulder again I watched him rummage through the bag for only a moment before zipping it back up and slinging it over his shoulder taking off away from the house and towards a thick portion of trees.

Now seriously, if that isn't suspicious I don't know what is. His little act was like one of those blinking-red vacancy lights over a shady looking hotel it practically screamed: Look at me-Look at me, I'm doing something I shouldn't be! I don't know what he was up to but I was going to find out, pushing my camera's magazine back into place I dropped it back around my neck only hesitating for a second before pushing my palms against the ragged grass and jogging (as fast as these damnable flipflops would allow) after him.

My tongue rolled over sun-dried lips as my feet avoided random foliage that threatened to break my cover as I inched my way through the maze of overgrown trees after a surprisingly springy Cicil.

You'd think after his seemingly dismissive P.E. performance he would be no problem keeping up with- yet here in the trees he was swift, barely more than another shadow in the woods. Let me tell you, there's a lot of shadows in the woods.

My fingers ran through long stringy hair coming back covered in small droplets of perspiration as my heart beat in my chest like a war drum.



The logical side to my mind said I was wasting too many precious beats on such a low standard activity as snooping, but my more adventurous side begged me to continue. So continue I did on into the sweltering early evening hours after a phantom of a boy playing spy in no doubt a labyrinth of poison ivy, and most likely snake infested terrain. As I thought about this the aspect of following him became less thrilling by this point though I was too hooked on this mystery to even muster up the idea of turning back. I'm not sure where I expected him to be going but those thoughts had been a far cry from his actual destination: the township of Taytum cemetery.

In full Nancy Drew mode I snuck behind him groaning to myself as I watched him scale the tall black fence only adding to my doubts of this being a simple affair. Watching from the trees I noticed Cicil was a little too good at climbing fences, like he'd done this many times before; for someone with such severe asthma he was very athletic... Maybe someone should inform Mrs. Pringle our P.E. teacher of this.

I assumed in a normal family Cicil would be sneaking over to Karia-Lynne's- I mean, his girlfriend's house... No, that couldn't be my family, he had to be sneaking into a graveyard to do who-knows-what.

After he walked an ample distance into the cemetery I crept out of my hiding place and after throwing my flipflops over, climbed the fence for myself; I'm proud to say I only fell twice once. Having gangly limbs allowed me to compensate awkward movements for quick climbing, and with only a few bruises and seconds of slight-to-moderate shame I was able to clear the fence and start my way across the jagged graveyard.

This was not like the cemeteries I was use to. Everything in this town and state was wrong. Cemeteries were suppose to be flat, with simple headstones... Why does this town have to always challenge my beliefs? Yet, in this topsyturvy world the graveyards broke my rules like everything else. I might as well change my name to Alice because this was one hell of a rabbit hole.

Tombstones were in every which direction having little-to-no thought put into organization and practicality! In my father's graveyard all the stones looked the same, a simple arrangement of simple gray stones but in this place all I could see was a hodgepodge of crypts, random headless statues, benches, and mismatched-gaudy-as-hell stones all on different levels of earth. Why wasn't it all the same level? I've heard of hills but it was like they'd purposely picked the most unlevel place to bury their dead. Chad's landscaper must have a contract with the city as well because the same mess of trees, bushes and flowers dotted the terrain.

Blowing a strand of hair out of my face I struggled for a moment with my flipflops before taking off in the direction Cicil had gone minutes before. A cool breeze hit my skin as I crept along the path causing me to shiver briefly before sauntering on.

I stopped abruptly as I found him sitting down with his back to me. Practically holding my breath I crept around him, my eyes scanning for a place to spy safely I found an old tree that looked sturdy enough to bear my weight. Removing my shoes I grudgingly climbed the rough-barky surface to an outlaying branch, my eyes having a perfectly hidden view from his right side.

I didn't understand the look on his face, his eyes looked at a gravestone in front of him with something close to seriousness the backpack sitting open on his lap. He was silent for a moment just breathing in and out before pulling some sort of necklace out from underneath his shirt. He clutched it for only a second before pulling a sewing needle out of his pocket. Cicil was a weird boy; who carried around a hundred pound necklace and a needle? My eyes widened as he pulled the needle to his index finger pushing the harsh metal into the skin 'til an almost invisible (from my distance) bubble of red came to the surface. Dropping the pin on the ground he wiped his finger against the front of the amulet I watched, slightly grossed out, as the cool silver became almost a coppery red. Now I really couldn't have him find me, he's obviously crazy. Not knowing I was there he continued on, letting the necklace drop to his chest he sucked on his bleeding finger while his other hand emptied the contents of the bag on the ground.

His eyes scanned the mound of things in front of him grabbing an old, ripped piece of paper his eyes scrutinized it for a moment before putting it down back down and standing up with a ziploc baggy filled with a gray substance in hand. I watched him sprinkle the substance around the grave, making a lined circle around the perimeter of the grave with the odd, gray sand-like thing. He started speaking hushed words as he walked the edge of the grave the words being so quiet they were lost upon the air. After completely emptying the bag he sat back down again now reaching for a bag filled with a green substance-which I suspected was filled with crumpled up leaves- his silenced words became more frantic as he opened the bag laying it next to him. He then took his bleeding finger and rubbed it over a number of small black oval objects, after which he shook the ziploc bag over the ovals before taking each stone and burying it in the ground equal distances away from each other, underneath the odd gray substance.

He sat there then for a few moments not saying another word before cleaning up his mess, brushing the substances away he left no trace he was even there before standing up and leaving not bothering to even look back as he walked back towards our house. Crickets chirped as I sat in that tree for another ten minutes unsure if he would come back and I would be caught. I knew what he'd done had not been normal, and it was not some quaint southern thing I'd yet to learn, it was wrong, and I had to find out what it was. Cicil was hiding something and I was going to find out exactly what it was- after I examined that tombstone.