'I am talking to you.' The photograph said.

Why me?

'Because that's the only way I will leave this photograph.'


'And you will help me, will you not?'


'That's all I need.'

Should you try to understand this, you realize that the story has already begun. But the photograph is not the only thing here. He could be watching, like any other hero who wishes to establish himself in the world.

Shall we say there are two worlds here? One resides in the imagination of both our hero, and you. The other, is perhaps written into the photograph that he is / you are holding. If you see it - as is printed here, in the text that carries you along, like our hero - you notice, it is slightly faded.

And that is our sign to act.


What happens to the man who chases after the image? He forgets that he is not an image, that he belongs in an era that is his. To become part of that era, he becomes a ghost. He forgets his own present. He writes himself into another narrative, as if that is enough. But he knows that it is a dream.

When he awakes he thinks of himself as having written a story. Yet the story’s remains still bother him. Did he talk to a ghost yesterday? If so, how did she feel so real? He clutches a photograph in his dreams. The photograph looks back, but not really at him. It is askance, and it stands to reason that it isn’t for him. But this is something he refuses to believe. The photograph, because he found it, must belong to him. It is his photograph, his one and only.

And yet, does a photograph not belong to us all? This is the question he refuses to think about. He wants it for himself. He wants everything for himself.