I'mage
I'mage fiction stories
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nasseropolis
nasseropolisCommunity member
Autoplay OFF  •  a year ago
Life is experienced in brief packets of existence called images.

I'mage

Eyes? Those organs of sensation, if you ask me, aren't too different from cameras.

Life is experienced in brief instances, or packets of existence called images, with lids fluttering in between, often lingering as long as it's appropriate to string several of them together.

There are moments when you wink out of being altogether that vary in length and stretch the depth of your unconsciousness proportionately, the longer one is sleep,

practically being 'turned off'. Just like a camera.

The image now at hand was of a bridge in the city of Prague.

I was facing towards sunset; the ball of gas well beneath the skyline made up of silhouettes of medieval buildings, a church dome, a large gothic-style tower of imposing height,

and an astronomical clock. The cloak of dusk enveloping the architecture grew red and crimson above and beyond.

Then blackness, eyelids closed; shutters replaced on the lens.

Then exposure again, another image, basically the same scene, only two women had entered the frame and stood to the far left.

Shadowy figures of statues lining both sides of the bridge peeked down at anyone crossing; the various dead saints depicted lay draped in black,

any light reflecting off them had all but petered out; even the lampposts interspersed in between had nothing different to say about it.

Another moment of sheer darkness, could have been more for all I know.

Eyes and brains; there's no guarantee to me those receptive organs, and that processing one, don't go more leisurely about their business and blackout for considerable periods in one blink.

Just like a camera. It's only quite noticeable in my line of work (photography) because the camera wakes up in another location entirely, having been carried there.

Lights blaring; lens scanning; things coming in and out of focus. Another photographer had erected a tripod on the cobblestone ground not far away,

life-ing his own camera into being.

The image abruptly cuts, my lens curtained-off by the lid, and when I see next it's no longer sunset, or the bridge.

The sky is clear blue, I appear to be levitating by means of a long object continuing as the hand of one of the two men directly in front of me. How long I'd been out this time I can only wonder.

But leaving that aside for a moment, you now see their eye things I've been telling you about, those two apertures three quarters of the way up the face.

Just like us cameras.

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