literature

The Unperson

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"When I was young," she said, not looking me in the eyes "I remember there was this woman. I think her name was Dani, or Devi, or Devin, or something like that. She had dark auburn hair, dark hazel eyes, and she spent time with my family. I can't remember a lot, I was too young then, but I think they were close, my parents and her, because I remember her being there for a few important things; when my brother fell and had to get stitches, when I wandered away in the mall. Or at least, I think I remember her; when I ask my parents, they say I never got lost in the mall. They say that I wasn't there when my brother got stitches.  HE even doesn't remember me there, so he definitely doesn't remember her, but I do.

"And my parents, when I ask them about her, they don't say anything. I've learned to stop asking directly, and instead I dance around it, try to lead my parents on, say I've had dreams about this woman with dark hair and dark eyes. Maybe I have, maybe I haven't, the reality and fiction have started blurring together. My mom says I probably saw this woman on some TV show, and my dad says she doesn't sound familiar.  When I talked to my brother about it, he says I should drop it, and I did, for a while. But then I found this," she pulled out a picture frame, slipped out the picture, and handed it to me.  "That's us, mom and dad and my brother and I, we went to Italy when I was two, my brother was five then. Do you see anything abnormal?"

The picture was of her family in front of a roman column, maybe from the Parthenon. Her dad had one arm holding two-year old her, other arm around her mom, who was carrying her brother. It was daylight out, there was a tourist doing something in the background. I studied it for about a minute or so before admitting defeat and saying "No."

"Haha, trick question, there's nothing wrong with that one. At least not yet. Consider it the control experiment;  Compare it to this one," She pulled out a pocket knife, and very carefully split the back of the picture frame, pulled out another picture and handed it to me. "See anything?"

I looked closely at this one as well. It was in front of the same column, the tourist in the back was now consulting a book, her dad was now holding her with both arms, and her brother was standing beside him, mom out of the picture. "Your mom's gone."

"You're on the right track, but that's not it. Don't worry if you don't get it on the first try, it took me a week. I almost thought that maybe there was nothing wrong with it, but it just didn't feel right, you know?" I looked at the picture again, compared it to the first one for a few minutes. "Still not getting it?" I shook my head. "That's okay, that's kind of the point. Let's start off with the obvious; what can you tell me about the two pictures? Anything."

"Your mom's not in the second one, I already said that. Same place, about the same time. You were in Italy, it's daylight out, um…."

"Let's start with that. Two pictures, same time, same day. Mom's missing in the second one. Why?"

"I'd imagine she's the one taking the photo."

"RIGHT. So who's taking the first picture?"

"You think it's that woman? It could be a tripod, or a tourist-"

"That's what I thought too. But then why would my mom take the second photo?"

"You don't know that she did."

"Then why would she leave? Why isn't she in the second photo?"

I stopped at that one.

"That doesn't prove anything."

"Not yet. Take a close look at the photo again. At my brother."

I looked over the picture again, and shook my head.

"At his shoulders."

I looked again. Left. Right. Left. Right. Left. Right. Left again, and that's when I saw it. A few spots of a flesh toned color, each with a smaller spot of blue on it.

"Is that…. Are those fingers?"

"Yep." There was a pause as I studied the picture; at first glance they were barely noticeable, and even if you saw them, they could be dismissed, the color was so close to the color of her brother's shirt. Yet there they were, three disembodied fingers on her brother's shoulder.

"What does it mean?"

"That they edited someone out. They edited HER out. She was once in this picture, and now she's gone. It's enough that my parents denied her existence, but they went back and removed her from the past. I mean, whoever she was, we went to freaking Italy together! My babysitter, or aunt, or neighbor or whoever.  Someone that they loved enough to help raise their children, to travel with to take pictures with. Gone, erased from history. And that's what scares me. There are hundreds of these photos, with only my dad, or only my mom, and then group shots. Photos that are a little off center, like there's someone missing to balance the photo out.

"But if it wasn't for this one, you wouldn't be able to tell the others. The others are done much more neatly, smooth lines and colorings, except for the eerie feeling of something being wrong, I have nothing to prove that they were ever different. Or sometimes there will be a series, telling a story shot by shot, but with jumps in them. I think those pictures were destroyed. They were edited, and if they couldn't be edited, they were destroyed. To hid her. "

"Who is she?"

"I don't even know. I don't even know if that's the point.  I think it's a warning; a sign that no matter how much they love you, they can still cast you out. Not just out of their lives, but out of their LIFE, past present future."

"That doesn't make sense.  If your parents deny it, that's a private family picture. Who is it supposed to be a warning to?" She looked up, and for the first time looked dead straight into my eyes.

"Well it's not to you, now, is it?"

So, I wrote this thinking about the KGB and George Orwell, mostly 1984. The idea that someone can become an unperson, can just cease to exist one day.

I welcome constructive criticism, feel free to tear it apart. I have thick skin.
© 2012 - 2024 Silvermoose
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