Sometimes people ask me these annoying questions about why I chose to become a photographer. You know stuff like, "Is it because you get to meet new people?" or "Do you just want to follow in your mother's footsteps?" I get that last one a lot. Well the answer isn't anything as typical or boring as that. Photographers capture moments in time, we can make feelings last forever by putting them in a photo. Isn't that beautiful? I think so, and well, that's why I do what I do. So there's your answer, that's why I take my work seriously. My photos reach all across the world after all, it's important to make sure that they carry the right emotions with them.
This particular photo shoot had just the right feeling. My subject was performing excellently. She had this look of fear in her eyes that complimented her raggedy outfit perfectly and her mouth was frozen in a state of shock. It was as if her entire face screamed out, "This is it, my end. I never even got to live on a farm and have seven kids or anything". I always love it when I don't have to force the expression I want, looked like it came naturally for her. The smell of blood permeated the room; it was an iron sent that I had grown to love. The corpse was sprawled out in all directions. Which wasn't a big deal to begin with, as I would just position her in other ways later. All in all it was an ideal setup for a shoot but there was one thing I needed to take care of before I could start.
"Jeez, I really wish you'd stop babbling and, like, get out of frame already."
This guy kept sobbing over the corpse and yelling cuss words at me. To make it worse he called her "Honey" and "Love of My Life" while doing so. Ugh, I hate guys like this with their stupid pet names. And would it kill him to grow a spine and man up a bit? Relationships end all the time so I don't see why this one is so important. He'll probably move on to some other chick with low standards next week anyway.
"I don't have all day you know. Besides, I don't really do male subjects for my photos all that often anyway so I don't think I can work you into the shots. Sheesh, talk about unreasonable."
He glared at me with a look of disgust. Despite what I said, I briefly considered taking his picture. But, disgust implies hope. It sends a message that they're not going to sit back and take it. So disgust doesn't fit well with my current theme.
"Leave us alone okay. And stop taking those damn pictures!" Said the corpse's boyfriend. Gosh he was really starting to piss me off. At least most miserable excuses for men I come across know that they're miserable excuses and run away. But this guy didn't even have the decency to get out of the shot and even thought he could stop me from doing what I love. How annoying, his entire existence is just so annoying. I decided I wasn't going to let him ruin my expose.
"Argh, now this is why I hate boys. Well I guess I'll just have to get you out of frame myself." I said, reaching into my camera bag to take out a knife, there were extra on hand for situations like this. When I walked over to slit the boyfriend's throat, he said something that surprised me.
"Take pictures of me instead. Kill me, cut me up, shoot me, stab me, whatever! Will that satisfy you?" Jeez, he was seriously trying to bargain with me. Not only that but I had to deal with this sentimental attitude. Well, if his hope was that I wouldn't go through with my duty, then I would create despair from that hope.
"Man, you're no fun at all. If you really want me to not take her picture, then you gotta do exactly as I say. First go sit over there." I said, pointing to a nearby office chair. Don't get me wrong it's not like I actually wasn't going to do it or anything. It's just that if there's one thing I know about boys, it's that they're surprisingly gullible. The boyfriend made his way over to the seat without protest, right choice.
"Just so you know if you try and attack me or anything. I'll kill you and make sure the corpse is put into sexual positions as I take photos. Are we clear?" I said as I waved my knife in front of his face.
"Her name's Shako." Said the boyfriend, trying to avoid the question.
For that, I slashed at his right cheek, blood spilled out onto his dirty business suit. The cut was nothing major, but it was more than enough to hurt. "I said are we clear, not what was her name." He grimaced in pain and then looked at me.
"Yes. We're clear." There that was more like it. First I needed to make sure the boyfriend knew exactly who he was dealing with.
"Listen I don't have much patience for immature boys, so I'm going to talk and you're going to listen." He nodded. "Let's get one thing out of the way. I'm the Ultimate Photographer slash Ultimate Despair. So don't think I'm, like, just some random psycho with a camera." When I said the words 'Ultimate Despair' his eyes widened and I could hear his breathing get quicker. My introduction had the exact effect I wanted it to.
"Y-you mean you're one of the people that's responsible for all this? For real? T-This… I just… I can't... I can't…" He continued to chant this over and over. What a complete and total wimp, breaking down all of a sudden. I know that's what I, like, wanted to happen but I'd love it if someone actually surpassed my expectations once in a while.
"Yup, that's right. You know those pictures that show up on TV day in and day out? I've taken every single one. Impressive ain't it?" I said. The boyfriend's disgust was quickly turning to fear. But that wasn't really a good thing, fear is dangerous, fear makes people do rash things. He was too intimidated to realize it but he could easily overpower me and make a break for it.
So I grabbed a pair of handcuffs out of my camera bag, sometimes I did living subjects for my shoots and they came in handy then. I then said to the boyfriend. "Put your arms behind the chair and let me handcuff you. If you don't, for my next photoshoot I'll rip off the corpse's head, stick it on a mannequin, and take photos of that." He wordlessly did so and I snapped the handcuffs on him. I made a mental note of my idea. Maybe instead I could rip off her arms and then replace them with a mannequin's. That's another great thing about photography, there are so many possibilities.
Although there was still one more annoying thing to take care of; the boyfriend continued to breathlessly chant 'I can't' over and over. It pissed me off so much that he thought he was allowed to retreat into insanity. I pointed my knife at his left eye and said. "Just so you know I don't tolerate stuttering. So if you don't, like, want your girlfriend's body shown on every TV screen in the world you better speak up."
And he did speak up. From the bottom of his stomach he said one word: "Bitch." Where the hell was he raised? You don't call a woman, 'bitch'. That term is so completely and utterly annoying; I shouldn't even have to explain why. Without so much as a word I jammed my knife into his upper leg and then quickly removed it, this time I made sure it was a major injury. Blood splattered everywhere; luckily I still had the lens cap over my camera's lens so no harm was done.
The boyfriend then let out a loud, unmanly, screech. At least he was speaking up. I said. "Call me Miss. Koizumi, not bitch. It's much more, you know, gentlemanly that way. Got it?"
After whining some more, the boyfriend said. "Y-yeah, I got it."
"Hold on a second." I said. "Say, 'I got it, Miss. Koizumi'." I slowly applied pressure to the boyfriend's new wound. I wasn't about to let him get off that easy or anything.
"I got it, M-Miss. Koizumi." After hearing that, I slammed my fist on his injury.
"Don't stutter!" I said. His behavior was becoming even more unbelievable.
"I got it Miss. Koizumi." Said the boyfriend. Any trace of disgust he once had was gone now; I could see the despair forming in his eyes. That was a bit more bearable, but I still needed to fully crush his hope in order to be satisfied.
There was a small photo album I kept with my camera equipment, sometimes I liked to flip through it and reminisce about the pictures inside. Now however, it served a different purpose. I grabbed it and said to the boyfriend. "I'll let you go in a sec, but first let's take a look at some of my favorite photos. If I like what you say about them I'll consider not doing the photoshoot."
"But wasn't it like that if I just did what you said you'd leave Shako alone?"
"A lady's allowed to change her mind right? I might leave the corpse alone if I'm satisfied with our time together. If I'm not then you're gonna have to be man enough to deal with that." I said. The boyfriend was holding back insults at this point.
This entire thing was starting to bore me to be honest, so I skipped the conversation and shoved my photo album into his face. It was opened to an image of a man with bleach overflowing from his mouth. He was covered in dirty clothing and kitchen aprons, with a washing machine running behind him. At least in death my Dad was able to do the chores. Before you go pointing fingers and stuff I didn't kill him, I simply added props for the shoot. The despair of seeing his daughter come home covered head to toe in blood is what did it. I'm so happy my Dad was able to experience true despair and that I was the one who gave it to him.
After blankly staring at the image for a bit, the boyfriend said. "Is this some kinda fucking fetish to you? I-I can't even explain what I'm feeling right now looking at this shit."
"Do I really have to explain it? It's despair. It's that feeling you get when you blow it all on a night in Las Vegas and are forced to use your last fifty dollars for a dingy motel room or something. That's what I take pictures of, people's despair." I said.
"T-that's…"
"That's what? Horrifying? Spine-chilling? Disgusting? Perverted? If you're gonna complement my photography, you better make it a unique compliment cause I've heard them all."
"That's evil." Said the boyfriend. I'll give him a little bit of credit, I hadn't heard that one before.
"Evil? Really? What I'm doing isn't any more evil than say, a nature photographer taking pictures of melting ice caps. I capture the truth of this world, it'd be a betrayal of my duty as photographer to lie to people like I used to. That's what my mom did, lie to me. Even though she was a war photographer all she showed me were photos of people's smiles." I cringed a bit at the memory. "My photos show people that, the world is full of despair, so they should just embrace it."
I flipped through my photo album some more, showing the boyfriend pictures upon pictures of dead bodies and the faces of people right before I killed them. At first he protested more but eventually he just accepted it. When I finished showing him my portfolio, he spoke up and said. "So like… A-are you gonna leave Shako alone now? I did what you asked right? Please j-just leave her some dignity."
"Yeah sorry no can do. Maybe if you, like, did something different during our time together I'd consider it but as it stands the corpse is my next subject. And you just gotta man up and deal with it understand?" I said.
"C-could you at least call her Shako?"
"Nope, I've already made a mental note to call her 'That Corpse with Bad Taste in Men'." Despair was just pouring into the boyfriend's eyes, filling them up to the brim. It was perfect, so perfect. I couldn't help but snap a picture of him.
"Say cheese… Just kidding! *click*" I checked my camera's digital display to see how it turned out. "Yup, this sure is a dumb-looking face." I pressed a special button an acquaintance of mine MacGyvered into my camera, and a second later every TV screen on the planet lit up with a picture of the boyfriend's face. Millions saw his pathetic face, his perfectly pathetic face dripping with despair. I suppose it was a nice little bonus to the shoot.
"Anyway I'm gonna go start the photo shoot now. You know, maybe if you just said the right thing this wouldn't be happening." I said, walking towards my latest subject. I was done with him; it was time to finally start.
To start, I slashed my knife across the corpse's throat. "*click*". Then I gorged out her left eye. "*click*". Then her right eye. "*click*". I whittled one of her arms down to the bone "*click*". I stabbed her multiple times across her abdomen. "*click* *click* *click*". Cut all of her fingers off. "*click*". And pulled out clumps of her hair. "*click*" She was doing so so so so so so so well, a ten out of ten. Lastly I stripped all of her clothing off expect her underwear. "*click* *click* *click* *click* *click* *click* *click* *click*..." I guess Victoria's Secret is out huh?
After a getting her from a few more angles, I pressed the button again to upload the images across the world and wrapped up the shoot. When that was done, I noticed something running down my mouth and chin. It was drool, odd. I wiped off my spit and glanced at the boyfriend. He was a complete basket case; there was nothing left in his eyes. Not disgust, not fear, not despair, just nothing. I guess if he couldn't be a man he might as well be nothing at all.
I unlocked his handcuffs and put my knife in his hand. "Your heart is right here." I waved my finger around the middle of his chest. "Don't miss it." The boyfriend swiftly and wordlessly killed himself. He didn't even think to attack me, then again by that point they never do.
Packing up my things, I felt satisfied in a job well done. As really, the others only cause despair, while I immortalize it. That's something only a photographer can do. Isn't that beautiful?