The Perfect Shot

The wind messes my black hair, swaying it back and forth across my tan back. My coral tank top flutters in the wind and my distressed skinny jeans lets the cold November air in, numbing portions of my legs. I bring my knees close to my chest and hug them, trying to harbor my body heat in a layer around me. The tears fall freely smudging the eyeliner and mascara I applied this morning.

Why couldn't life just go the way I want it. Why did I suddenly think that they would listen to me after not caring about me for oh so many years?

The crescent moon’s light lit the streets dimly, along with the streetlights in our neighborhood. My parents were yelling and I could hear then even where I was sitting which was an abandoned park near the street.

Of course, my family would be the only ones awake.

Why I was sitting on a bench near the street instead of swinging on one of the swings in the park, was beyond me. However, the park looked uninviting at this time of night. The dark trees surrounding the park casted a big shadow, which let none of the moonlight in. It looked terrifying. I hate dark places.

I should not even be here. I should be at home in warmth studying for a biology test on Monday. Alternatively, I should be at Charlottes' house for a sleep over. On the other hand, I could still be at the company's anniversary party, if I did not 'embarrass' my parents.
I hugged my knees more tightly as a bigger gust of wind blows at me. The camera sitting on my abs, beckons me.

Take the picture.

The scene around me is beautiful. The looming evergreens above my head spread their shadows, engulfing me in darkness. The chipped sidewalk and the littered road bring the sadness into the picture.

It is like what I am feeling now.

I perch my camera in my two hands and place it in the view of the scene I see with my eyes. The screen sees what I see, after careful adjustments. My hands shake as my index finger comes close to the button.

“It’s because of that camera right? You cannot make a living from photos! Your stupid camera!”

“If you take another picture with your god damn camera, it’s going to the trash!

I shudder and shake my head to knock the memories right out of my head.

Do not hesitate. What are they going to do, break your camera? Hide it? Force you to take the career of their choice? No, they will not do anything. It is your camera. Nobody is going to take that away from you.

My conscience does not help my nervous self. My fingers still shake. I steady myself as I get up from the wooden bench I was sitting on. The screen wobbles and steadies as I plant my feet to the gravel on the road.

My finger goes dangerously close to the shutter button. Conscience begs me to press it. I am going to do it. My confidence spike, Conscience is pleased.

I am pressing —

“Hey! Watch out!”

A boy on a skateboard crashes into me. My stature so firmly placed on the ground breaks. My hands that were so firm weaken, letting my camera fly.

No.

My shoulder crashes into the hard grainy gravel and screams in pain. The boy tumbles over his skateboard and falls on his ass.

The clean tank top I had gets dirty from the mud from last night’s rain.

“Are you okay?” The boy looms over me. In the dim light, I only see his arm stretched towards me. Hands…

My camera...

I reject his offer, and inch towards the mess on the road. I am crawling like a fool. My camera lies in the trash in the middle of the road.

No.

Tears that were suppressed for so long, fall out. More tears fall as the boy places his palm on my broken shoulder. I flinch from the pain.

I cry more when he picks the camera up. The lenses are cracked, and the screen is shattered. The body looks like it been through a shredder. It is beyond repair.

They took it. They took it away from me. No.

That is all I can do now. My perfect shot is gone.