1. Short Story: Depth of Field
1. Depth of Field
Depth of Field:
A term from photography that refers to the focus of a picture. (Shallow depth of field or large depth of field).
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Light filtered through the blinds, before melting on the floor like softened butter on warm bread. Maya was sitting on the floor, spellbound at a dusty bottle with no particular value. She could hardly be called an aspiring artist, but she was like her father when she wanted to take a decent picture. The camera hung around her neck with its lenses bowed to the ground, almost lonely. She held up her camera, then having second thoughts, she sighed as she placed it on the table.
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Light was beautiful, especially when it reflected through the bottle, but Maya knew that it was a fairly common picture. If there was one thing she hated more than a blurry focus, it was a cliche picture. Every person had a different life and it made no sense of taking a repetitive picture when there should be different experiences. Maya loved photography because it showed the perspectives, because just by looking at the angle or the subject, the mentality of the photographer could be revealed.
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Sighing, she grabbed her jacket before she hesitated. Outside scenery could be beautiful when taken correctly, but upon seeing her camera, her resolve crumbled and she just stepped out of the door, her camera now in hand.
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The weather was crisp with not a cloud in sight, the blue almost infectious in its pleasurable mood. The leaves were slowly sinking into their sleep of orange and brown, but many photographers took advantage of the fall leaves. A slight breeze made her shove her hands into her pockets. The park was close to her neighborhood, and although it was hardly a Botanical Garden, there was a familiarity in the rusted swings and the dirt ridden slides. As she approached, Maya stopped as she saw the spray paint on the concrete. It was just typical graffiti, with random initials sprayed on it with scribbles that were trying pathetically to be artistic. Maya didn't just stand there, but walked closer to that one section where the blue and yellows clashed painfully. R.B. WaS Hear.
Maya paid no attention to the spelling but squatted down. Random initials— random initials that meant a random person in the neighborhood or perhaps a tourist who had nowhere to go. It could be an alien, a girl, a boy, or a person who was trying to say that him or her mattered; that the world shouldn't take them for granted. Heck, it could be a warning for the zombie apocalypse for all she cared. The possibilities were endless in that square of concrete. It told about a life, and the reason people wrote biographies was precisely for that reason— because human life was filled with villains and knights in shining armor, disguised by fleece jackets and dragons with hidden treasure that took form of an employer.
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Maya could feel her brow knit in concentration as she slipped the camera off her neck and made sure to focus it as if she was Goldilocks. It was possibly the most important picture she would ever take— it was the story of someone’s life.
Her thumb pressed the button, and with a flash, the photo was taken.
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Thank you all for reading and please let me know what you all think; every comment is appreciated.
Signing off,
InkRights
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I love how you captured the struggle and beauty behind photography, and how every film tells a story - a powerful message that I can connect to very much <3 I can't wait for the next update :D
ReplyDeleteThank you so much, I'm glad you enjoyed it :D
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