Wednesday, 30 January 2013

275: The Whole Thing

Michael looks through the viewfinder.  He looks at each area in turn, wondering which image will be the nicest, the best, the most accurate.

Straight ahead he sees his wife, pretty and her hair in soft curls, her hips a little wider than he remembers.  She sits at the breakfast bar, sipping an expensive coffee, flicks the pages of a magazine, does not see the white-walled rooms and tribal rugs in the pictures.  She sighs and then again.  Her face looks sad, her body defeated.  She rises, fetches cleaning things and wipes the wall and surfaces and windows that do not need wiping.

To the right he sees his office.  He has stepped outside for a moment, to an important meeting, to something that only he can resolve.  His secretary sits in the outer office, screening calls, checking business flights, smiling or shaking her head at appropriate times.  She has dark roots and a plunging neckline and a Masters that qualifies her more highly than three quarters of the staff.  She resolves never to sleep with him again, not after this time, and she knows he will make her believe he will promote her soon, very soon.

To the left he sees his club and there, his friends.  They talk about making money and talk about screwing women.  They believe you are only a real man if you do both, a lot.  They prefer making money and prefer talking about screwing women.  They know making money lets you screw women.  They know that, if they did not make money, women with dark roots and plunging necklines would not agree to be screwed by men made real by baldness, paunches, bad breath and dandruff.

Above he sees his children.  He knows they are his children because there are two of them, one boy and one girl, and that is what he has.  These children are older and taller than his children and not so cute.  They are more whiney and have many flashing gadgets and electronics in their rooms, which they ignore and instead look bored.  They do not stop texting on their mobiles, except for when they tweet fml and similar.

Michael does not know which image to capture because he does not recognize them as his.  He knows his wife is happy and his secretary is happy and his friends are happy and his children are happy.  He would like one big happy picture.  He would like to be in a happy picture.

He thinks probably they all would.

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