The Photographer

                “Smile,” I said as I held up the camera to her puffy eyes. Her lips curled outwards in a small grimace. She tried, oh how she tried. I took the photo, the flash of light cracking like a whip of fire through the dark. The buzzing of the camera bled through the silence. I wafted the picture, letting the ink dry. I was hopeful, so hopeful. But as I peered at the black square bleeding into life, I found disappointment sting my heart.

                “Try again,” I said, trying to hide my frustration. “But this time, put a little soul into it.” I leant down to her on the gurney. “You said I make you happy? When I asked you, that’s what you said?” I felt my eyes beginning to sting with pain. “You weren’t lying to me, where you?”

                Her head moved side to side wearily, those puffy eyes begging me to believe her. I did. I cracked a grin.

                “Good,” I said. “Now, try again.” I raised the camera, and her lips curled into a bloodied sneer. “That’s better.”

                The camera clicked once more, and I waited for the ink to settle. Waited those precious moments to see my work. To see my artistry come to life.

                I smiled.

                “Beautiful,” I said, looking at the photo. “I knew you had it in you!” I laughed, moving to the pinboard where I kept the others - Some older, some younger. Their faces were grey, swollen. Not like hers. She had smiled at me. A refreshing grace of sunlight broke through the grey sky. She was my totem of joy, my muse. I pinned it up above the others and stood back, letting out a satisfied sigh. I turn to her once more. She was crying again. I didn’t like it when she cried. It made me feel sad, and I don’t like feeling sad.

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                I moved to her, picking up the joke book. A lot of the pages were stuck together from spillages, and I read her some of my best jokes. The smile was tucked away. She was making me work for it.

                “I want you to smile,” I said to her. “You’re so beautiful when you smile!”

                “Let me go…” she whispered in that dark place. Her hands tried to reach out to me. To touch me? To hold me? I wanted to feel her love so badly, but last time, I remembered last time. She had tried to run, to break my camera. I couldn’t risk that again.

                I used to use rope, but the red burns didn’t make for a good photo. Tie wraps worked well, but they made their arms swell like waterlogged plums. So I used nails. They were simple and could be hidden from the camera shot easily.

                “I will when you give me another smile,” I said. “Let’s try again.” I read out the best joke I had. The one about the dog and the hat. That one always worked. It always got them smiling. I hit the punch line, and I waited for the laughter to come.

                But only silence met my ears.

                Disappointed, I put the joke book down. I picked up the camera once more and took the photo. It buzzed, and the polaroid came out again. I wafted it in my hands, and there it was - the smile I had been waiting for. It sat there in stillness and serenity.

                “That wasn’t hard, was it?” I said, the sight of her slacked jaw and her swollen tongue meeting my eye. It was the best part of the creation process. Refreshing, and tantalising. I pinned it up with the rest of them, and I cracked a wide grin of my own. “That’s my favourite one yet,” I said, feeling refreshed. “A few more, and I’ll have the greatest collection ever.”