The Girl with the Magic Camera

WRITING PROMPT: If the title of the story is "The girl with a magical camera", what is the story about? Who is the girl? Where does the camera come from? Write your story.

~O~O~O~

Part Five

Deeta sat in utter disbelief. She stared at the picture while her hand shook. 'There's more to this camera than empty films.' she thought. 'Does it capture picture from mere memory?' The picture flapped as the wind blew, snatching the picture from her hold. Up it flew, like a dandelion floating in the wind. She got up and ran, knocking her coffee cup to the ground. She wanted to leave it but she bent down nonetheless, her eyes still fixed on the flying photograph. Farther it flew, dancing with the wind, in the direction of the person she least likely wanted it to end up with: Mr Powell. She shot off like a rocket, determined to catch the photograph before he notices it. It was already inches from the the park bench where Mr Powell sat when she decided to lunge for it. She landed on the grass with a dull thud. It wasn't loud but it was enough to snap Mr Powell from his reverie. Deeta put the photograph inside her pocket and was dusting off the dirt from her sweater when she met his eyes. They were reddening at the edge, tears lining his eyes. Her heart dropped, guilt tugging at her chest. 'It's not right.' she thought. 'It's not fair that I have a picture of them when his heart still misses her.' She smiled at him, the friendliest that she could muster. "Good afternoon, Mr Powell." she said.

"Good afternoon." he replied. He looked at her, his eyebrows furrowed slightly and his eyes squinted as he studied her face. He seemed to recognize her but cannot remember from where.

"I'm Deeta Steiner, you know my grandfather."

His face lit up. "Ah yes, yes. Steiner." He patted the empty space beside him. "Sit down, love. So how is he?"

"He's doing fine."

"What's keeping him busy these days?"

"He and Gran are travelling right now." But as soon as the words came out of her mouth, she wanted to take it back. Mr Powell's eyes lost their sparkle. He was still smiling, but it was a sad one; full of nostalgia and longing.

"I'm sorry. I didn't - it was insensitive of me." she said, looking at her feet.

"Don't apologize my dear. I just wished I was doing the same thing with her."

Deeta slipped her hand in her pocket and felt the photograph. 'Should I give it to him?' she asked herself. 'It might make him more sad though.' She fished the photograph from her pocket and looked at it. She made up her mind. 'It's not mine to keep.'

She cleared her throat. "Mr Powell, I think this belongs to you." she said, handing him the photograph.

He was confused at first but when he saw the picture, it broke the dam that was holding his tears back. 

"Where did you get this?" he asked but his eyes never left the photograph in his hand.

"When my father and I came to fetch my grandparents that night, I took pictures as souvenirs for them." she lied. She deemed it best to keep the camera a secret. "You and Mrs Powell happened to be dancing when I snapped that photo. I want you to have it."

Mr Powell was at lost for words. He cupped his other hand over his mouth as he cried silent tears. 

'Maybe it was a bad idea after all.' she thought. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you sadder with that photo. I just thought-" but Mr Powell cut her off.

"I'm not sad dear. I'm overjoyed that one of my fondest memories of us together had been saved. Bless you, bless your kind heart." With that he hugged her. Deeta fought back tears and hugged him back. She bade him goodbye and left him in peace.

The overcast sky had turned gloomy and a cold drizzle had started to fall. Deeta decided to take refuge inside a local cafe. She sat near the window. She placed the camera on the table  in case people who were passing by recognize it. She was on her third forkful of pasta when she saw her boss, the pub owner, standing on the other side of the street. An idea struck her, she wanted to see if the camera did take pictures from memory alone. She grabbed the camera and thought of a time when she saw her boss happy. She thought of the time when she saw him with his mates. They were sitting at the far corner of the pub, glasses  clinking and their laughter booming across the room. She aimed the camera at him and pressed the shutter. The camera clicked again and the picture counter switched to "6". She placed the camera back on the table.  But when the picture came out, it wasn't the one in her mind. It was a picture of the pub owner and a young man which she recognized as his son. They were having a drink and playing chess. But she had no memory of this picture at all. 

Disclaimer: All photo credits go to respective owners.