Camera

Asa Keyes

With a click, the moon vanished from the sky: captured by a viewfinder. The final opening of the shutters showed only empty heavens. The already dark night was now a disorientating pitch black. 

A hunched figure emerged from behind a camera, stumbling back from the tripod. There were no more sources of light in the countryside now that the moon was gone. The stars were partially covered by clouds, the sky was blank, but a key piece was missing. It fumbled for a phone; turning on the torch to see with. The light burst out over the surrounding field, giving form to the obscurity. Upon further inspection, the shadowy figure revealed itself. The man’s appearance had been neglected; his hair was overgrown and wiry, his eyes had a wild look in them, and his clothes were tattered and torn. Suddenly, his camera started to emanate a soft glow; the screen flashing with the brightness of a celestial body, trapped inside. 

“I did it… I did it!” He dropped to his knees before the camera, a vintage Nikon F2. The sound of his laughter filled the field, his shoulders heaving like a man possessed. There was a fever in the sound. 

“I’m a god, this is my destiny!” 

With a shaking hand, he carefully lifted off the camera cradling it carefully in his hands like a parent with a newborn child. He kissed the cool metal of the camera, obsession. glinting in his eyes. 

It felt like forever since he had first found it in the back of a vintage shop he frequented, although it had only been a month. He had been scouring the shelves for anything valuable he could resell when suddenly a flash went off behind him. The broken grandfather clock that had stood encased in dust for the past six months had vanished from right beside him. He looked up, checking to see if anyone else had noticed. The aisle was empty, clutter blocking the view from the rest of the shop. He was alone. He immediately began to look for the source of the flash, and found the vintage Nikon F2 atop an old, broken, oak dresser, glowing gently. He stood up on a torn footstool and carefully picked it up. Upon closer examination it looked like a regular old camera, the glow had already started to settle. He didn’t know much about cameras but he figured he could probably sell it for some cash, it was in good nick. 

But what does a camera have to do with a derelict grandfather clock vanishing? He could think of no correlation. The camera miraculously still had charge, and he checked the recently taken pictures. There it was: the clock. He hadn’t imagined it. It really had disappeared. Here one second, and gone the next. Some part of him whispered to take another picture and before he knew what he was doing he had taken a snap of the nearest bookshelf. With a flash, it vanished too, sucked into the camera. The weight of the camera in his hands felt just right, even though he didn’t have much experience with cameras. He felt a voice at the back of his head guiding him, he wasn’t scared of it. He had picked up something much greater than he could imagine, and it would lead him to something incredible. What would it lead him to? He didn’t know. He just knew it felt right. Something clicked inside of him; this surely was fate. 

From that point on he spent all of his time with the camera, refusing to put it down. After the first week he had stopped going to work to spend time with it, by halfway through the second week he’d stopped shopping for food; spending the days wandering around, taking photos. He had stopped taking care of himself completely, letting his 5 o’clock shadow grow out, the bags under his eyes faded into a deep purple as sleep became but a distant memory. He did not need anything other than the camera. 

Although it had only been a month, he looked like years had passed. His hair had grown wild and matted, his teeth were rapidly turning yellow and his face seemed to have aged ten years in the last week. He had become practically unrecognisable from his former self. He didn’t care. He was so much more now that he had the camera. He was a king over existence. He shaped destinies with just the press of a finger. He had transcended to a realm above the average man, he was becoming a god. Gods didn’t eat or sleep, gods didn’t waste their time on the mundane, the everyday banalities. No; gods carved out the fate of nations, they weren’t bothered by triviality. He didn’t need anybody else, no friends or family, he had all he needed. He was in control. 

Back in the field, the camera spoke to him again. It yearned for more now that it had tasted the moon: its cravings had grown. It wanted life. To decide who lives and dies was indeed the power of a god. Now that he had proven himself, capturing life was surely the next step to his transcendence. Nursing the camera in his arms, he hurriedly packed up his tripod and sped out of the field in search of life. The mad look in his eyes and feverish whispering portrayed a different image from the godlike one in his head. Stumbling through hedges and shrubs he managed to capture birds disturbed by the loss of the moon, but it wasn’t enough. He continued 

to head for street lights in the distance when a light suddenly blinded him. He had rambled into someone’s backyard and they were now staring at him in their pyjamas, while a Golden retriever barked at him. 

“Perfect, perfect, perfect.” 

Before a word could be said he clicked the shutters and they disappeared. A mad laugh filled the silence. He began clicking wildly. A tree, a house, a hedge and on and on. 

“More, more, more!” 

His words no longer made sense – he wasn’t human anymore. His hair had started to turn grey, his shoulders hunched, his skin cracked and wrinkled. It still wasn’t enough, he had to get more. He looked around. He was surrounded by emptiness. He had taken everything he could, but it wasn’t enough. The murmur of the camera escalated, he had to find more, but he had created a world of emptiness. There was nothing left to take. His body was starting to protest against the heavy usage of the camera, but he had transcended past pain now; he felt no need for a body. If only he could be free of it. Free to take all the pictures he wanted without anything slowing him down. It clicked. 

He just had to take a picture of himself. 

Then he would be free of his body, and he would become one with the camera. 

He set the camera down gently facing him. The sound of the camera had grown louder now than his own thoughts. He didn’t need anything other than the camera’s voice. He stood still for a moment and waited for the click. With a flash, the world came back into being around the empty space where he had stood. 

The man was no god. 

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Asa Keyes is a 19 year old writer from Ireland who loves cats, tea and Haruki Murakami novels. They love writing songs and short stories. This is their first short story they’ve been happy with and they hope you like it. Instagram: @asa._.0.0