The last picture

Images shot through his mind as he hurled around in troubled sleep. Images of his life. And yet somehow, even the earliest memories were perfectly clear. The interplay between shade and light was perfectly balanced. These images would have made beautiful photographs.

Photography - his one love, one passion, for as long as he could remember. As a child, the few photos he'd been allowed to take in each film would've been perfectly thought out. He'd plan each photo in his mind, and this resulted in lovely pictures. And then, the digital camera had come out. It had been such a prized, treasured possession, that his father never allowed anyone to touch it. The boy broke this rule, and used the camera many times behind the father's back. Of course, this had gotten him into big trouble, but after his pictures were seen, his parents admitted (rather grudgingly, however) that the boy had talent. After several conditions had been laid out, he'd been allowed to use the special device.

It was his 16th birthday when he finally got his own camera, after months of saving pocket and gifted money. It was a good quality point-and-shoot, and he shot to his heart's content.

His parents had always been firm on studies coming first, but they made an exception for the boy. Perhaps they were touched at seeing how he loved photography. They gave him half an hour every day to shoot, including exam days.

And so, with his camera, and lovely thirty minutes every day, he'd been a happy chap. He'd done well in all the exams he could ever remember and this kept his parents happy too.

That was until, the day that he'd announced that he would take photography as his main course in college.

"No way! Absolutely not! You will do engineering, or become a doctor! Do something sensible! For so long we have allowed you to pursue photography as a hobby, but only as a hobby. No photography!" These were his fathers immediate words.

Again and again he'd tried to talk to his father, to convince him that photography was sensible, but the answer was always the same. No.

So, that left the boy with only one option. He'd run away. He'd never be happy living a life without photography. He'd take his laptop, camera, tripod, mobile, and the chargers for all of them. He'd pack spare clothes, money, snacks, and maybe a book or two. Then bye-bye home.

Only his little sister knew. He hadn't told her by choice, he'd been forced to tell her when she had caught him booking tickets for buses and trains and filling applications for colleges specialising in photography. 

She'd begged him not to go, but had never told her parents in fear he'd leave sooner. He didn't change his mind. 

It was the day before he'd leave and he'd decided to take some photos of his house and family. He started by taking pictures of the views from the balconies, windows, and the terrace. He took photos of his mother in the kitchen and then doing the laundry. He shot pictures of his sister reading and painting, and one more, of his mother and sister hugging. He didn't shoot one of his father alone.

In the evening, he took all three of them, and the dog watching TV, and one of them eating dinner. No one found this unusual. He slipped away after dinner to charge his mobile, laptop, and camera. He packed his bags. At 1:30 am, he left. He'd heard the words, "Please don't!" from his sister's mouth, but didn't stop. He hadn't known if she was sleeping or awake.

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    As the boy waited for the bus, he opened his laptop to look at the photos he'd taken earlier. He'd downloaded them all. He stopped at the one where the rest of his family and the dog were watching TV. It was a very good picture: sharp, clear, bright, and it told a story. Then he noticed something: his sister had been watching TV with slightly red eyes. she had been crying. And there was one unoccupied chair.

It struck him that something was wrong, something was missing.

Heart beating frantically, he made a decision.

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The sister couldn't sleep. It was 2:30, one hour after her brother had left. She'd tried to stop him, but he didn't listen. She had woken her parents up instantly, and had told them what had happened. Her mother had started crying, and to her surprise, her father too.

He then revealed a dark secret: After school, he also, had taken photography in college. It was a very good international institution. But because of his nationality, the others in college used to tease, rag, and bully him, and yet he put up with it. It was the day that he believed that he would get his best picture, that he was pushed from the elevated area where he was standing, probably as prank to scare him. But it was much more serious than imagined. He suffered a terribly fall, a fall so bad that he had to stay in a wheelchair for the rest of his life.  

He didn't want his son to make the same mistake.

The sister sighed.

Moonlight was streaming in and fell on a large, grand chandelier. It would have made a great photo.

Just then, the doorbell rang.