Taking the Photo Before it's Gone

The ground is a long way down. But I’ve already hit rock bottom, so in contrast, it’s simply a small leap to the moss covered floor. I wonder if it’s better down there, surrounded by motherly trees that litter the forest floor with green leaves, wet with fresh rain. But I like it up here, in the trees themselves. It gives me a much better view of the world around me.

 I should take a picture, I think. Old habitual thinking that is slowly creeping back. I sigh and lean my head against the rough bark and take a mental picture. This, I know, will last longer in the end. Emotion burns my eyes and clogs my throat as I gaze upon the view below. 

Emerald green plains spread out for miles, and majestic mountains with white peaks surround it. Light spring rain brings the smell of blooming flowers wafting towards me. The sun peeks through the clouds and casts a rainbow into the sky. I notice the sun has lowered and is nearing the horizon. 

There is not much time, I think to myself. There is not enough time. There has never been for anyone that lives in the small village of mine. My heart aches as I suddenly long to be home, cozy by the fire with my dog on my lap and a cup of warm cocoa in hand, watching my mother work on a puzzle. But this is where everyone said the view was best when it was time, so like everyone before me, I listened. I know that in a few years when I tell someone it is their time, I will tell them to come here, whether I believe it to be the ‘best view’ or not. I couldn’t tell you why, but it just feels right.

I wish to close my eyes and rest for a moment, but I can not risk it this high up. Although, maybe falling through an enchanting forest to my doom would be a better fate than the one arriving in less than 30 minutes.

30 minutes. How did time fly by so quickly? 

I think of all the photos I have taken in my lifetime. And how when I look back on them, they will seem lifeless, leached of color and beauty. 

I wish someone had told me about this day sooner, for if they had I wouldn’t have taken so many photos. They will no longer mean anything to me. Only the things up here, in my head, will matter anymore. But I know as I get older, even those mental pictures will slip away too. That terrifies me the most.

20 minutes. I wonder what mother is doing right now. Is she thinking about me? I think as the sun sinks lower in the glimmering sky. 

God, why does it have to be so beautiful? It only makes the pain worse. Knowing that in 19 minutes, the sun will be gray, the grass a faded black, and the flowers wilted. To someone younger than me, perhaps someone 16 years old, they would see the world as I see it now. In some cases, someone older than me, like a 40 year old. But for our village, this is how it has always been. When the time is right, your view of the world is stripped away and replaced with the colorless, lifeless version. The age is different for everyone, and I guess I got unlucky. Excuse me, I didn’t mean to make it sound so depressing. 

In all honesty, it’s not so bad. It makes everyone appreciate the things they had taken for granted before. The smell of the lilacs blooming in spring, or the warmth of summer air and the breeze of a winter's night. You start taking everything in, and it lasts in your memory longer than it would have before. But it’s a true shame we can’t just.. live in it forever. It angers me that no one even knows why it happens, it just always has, and there is no way to escape it.

I remember when they told me it was time.

My mom stands by the door, whispering with a couple of old folk. I glance up from my book and grow curious at their hushed tones.

“What’s going on?” I say as I walk over. I see that my mother is trying to swipe away tears before I notice, and that the old folk are solemn. 

The one to the right, the old man, takes off his hat and his gaze saddens as he looks at me.  He mumbles something under his breath, and I think I catch the phrase, “So young.”

“May we come inside?” he asks, the question not really directed at me or my mother.

“Yes, of course,” my mother responds shakily. My eyebrows draw together and I can’t shake the odd feeling I get from the visitors. When they sit down at the dining table, I really study their expressions. Eyes full of sympathy and sadness, fiddling with their hands and clearing their throat from time to time. I’m observant, and I put the pieces together before they say a word.

“It’s time?” I ask, barely a whisper. They only shake their heads solemnly. I suck in a sharp breath and close my eyes, and the sound of rushing blood deafens me as I tune everything out. I’d only ever heard rumors from town, but my mother had told me about this many years ago. At the time I hadn’t believed it was true, but when I grew more observant of the town folk I realized it was not at all a lie. That is when I stopped taking photos, and started seeing things with my eyes, and pasting them into my memory to hold on for as long as they could. 

How is it already time? Typically, it was people in their 40s and 50s, not.. no, never 19.

I stand up on wobbling knees and excuse myself to retreat to my room. I know soon word will get out. The youngest one to experience ‘The Taking.’ Because they are right. I am far, far too young.

I gasp and sit upright, nearly losing my balance and the narrow branch. I put a hand to my heart to slow my racing pulse as I take in deep breaths. I was foolish to fall asleep in a tree, whether I meant to or not,

I try to shake the memory that haunted my dream and as I look around, I am too stunned to speak. The sun has set, and the heavy clouds block out the moon. But even if the stars were out, I realize I would not see them the same. The grass is dull. The breeze of the night never comes and tears brim my eyes as I realize it happened. I’ve experienced The Taking. I guess I was holding out hope that for being such an anomaly, something would go awry. How wrong I was. 

I slowly climb down from the tree and nearly choke on the lump in my throat as I step on dead leaves that were soft and green only minutes prior. I decide not to look at the trees, and think of my memory of the view before I dozed off. A warm smile spreads across my features as the image appears, clear as day. I sigh with relief that my memory is this clear, and when I open my eyes, I see the image flicker onto my surroundings for a second. It’s hardly anything, but it’s enough for me to forget the sadness of The Taking if only for a second. I find myself wishing I had stopped to take in the scenery around me more often before taking a useless photo. But I dismiss the thought because for now, the memories I have will do.