literature

Jodi Shorts: The Projector Room

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Literature Text

Quiet, deadly, silence.

'click'

'click'

'click'


Aside that of a projector clicking in motion after every minute, that is. A faint glow was around the room, created by the old film projector and the canisters of still photos it was cycling through. Dozens upon dozens of the ilk were in the room, at least that's what it seemed like from the perspective of the projector, having been caught in a large tangle of the film hours ago. It was still humming away though, softly clicking through the photos that were being cycled through.

Sitting in a chair in front of the projector, was a lone person. Her hair shaggy and untamed, washed and cleaned of course but not combed or paid any attention to as of late. Her whole appearance seems gaunt and washed-out, a trick of the projector's light due to how it glowed around her pale skin and created an unnatural pallor in the room. Her eyes a bright shining contrast to her skin, double-irises brimming up with full blue and turquoise tones as they fervently scan the images presented on the wall.

It is of a surprise then, to see that she is not bound to the chair she's at, nor is she being seemingly forced to watch the images flicker by...but the moment one takes a look, a strange palpable sense of understanding occurs. The images, as they are, come to be of a family enjoying themselves in what one could only assume a summer home. There's plenty of odd angles and extra people within the pictures, friends and gathered acquaintances, but the majority of the photos are of what is assumed  the female currently in the chair...but much younger.

Comparing the two, the one truly strikingly similar thing was the hair...both shaggy and untamed, but no less brighter or beautiful, hair that laughed and joyously grinned as she did...or would, in this case. The girl in question was watching these photos with tears held at the edges of her eyes, wrapped in a blanket of some sort that fell loosely down but secured to her bust by arms gripping and holding tight to prevent any sort of indecency. It is hard to discern clothes on her, but the safest assumption is that she wasn't wearing any. Although it did seem particularly off, there was the faintest sound of a running water in the distance...of a faucet or tap left running, probably in the attempt to clean up and forgotten with time.

As the pictures cycle by, each time pausing for no longer than a minute, she continues to stare...transfixed as memories flood back to her mind, unbidden and tired memories of what once used to be her life. The child looks so happy within the images, so carefree and unaware of the dangers lying ahead of her in the future....what is also history to the female at present in the chair.

A smirking and amused father is seen in most of these pictures. He holds a pipe on occasion, but that only seems to pop up during holidays where he is well-dressed and quite handsome to look at. He nary leaves a gesture out of his repertoire, even showing anger despite being so similarly cunning. A man of what could be assumed few words but of the choicest ones, words that would hold deep meanings or were so blunt you would need a moment to rest from how hard it hits. He was never a man who held back, even showing so with his love of his daughter and wife...although kisses and hugs by anyone's standards would look tame even on film...the memories of them were always intense, words barely forgotten how they were said.

The mother was another similar cause of this...she was quite warm and beautiful to look at, that stunning brown hair and flashingly bright smile just left one's thoughts speechless at a glance. It was a bit strange to look into her eyes, much like the female on the chair, this woman had double-irises and showed no restraint in letting them help speak volumes of words with but a glance. Her gaze was always hard to look away from, an attention-grabber for certain but not for a want to speak...merely a want to show her love of life and compassion for those enjoying it. A face as soft and carefully made as a doll, though there were wrinkles and even a bit of natural maturity shown within. A facade naturally crafted as though it wasn't from years of damage and neglect, but from carefully honed growth and enjoyment of the world.

These two were alongside the young girl, who was shown making small objects or helping out with her father's car. There were images of her riding a bike on her first attempt with no training wheels, even a few images of her birthday celebrations with her cherished family looming over like highly protective bears. Well...perhaps not looming, but certainly keeping a careful eye over all the proceedings during the party. It was obvious they cared for her beyond being just their daughter, but due to the power of photos being unable to convey emotion within a living scene, one could only guess at what was hidden behind each snapshot of memory.

'click'

'click'

'click'

'cli...'
the roll stops there, a hollow 'thunk' replacing the 'click' that would have finished. The roll finished and the screen turning completely white. The room was flooded for the moment with this still image of the female watching her family, until she finally gets up and deftly clicks off the projector. She easily re-wraps herself up in whatever the object is, carefully heading to the door and leaving....a metal arm glinting lightly as she heads into the more well-lit place beyond, closing the door behind and never looking back again....leaving behind what was once memories, only to find them again later.
Another Jodi short story...it isn't ever said who it is to start off...but I'm sure you'll enjoy it, folks.

Jodi (C) myself
Comments2
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BohepansTheZeroth's avatar
Nwah? ...huh? Who? What? When? Argh? @_@ Questions and no answers, and not a lot I can educatedly guess from the clues left within. Is there perhaps more to it somewhere, safely tucked away and waiting for the light of day?