Fragments of Life – A One Shot Story

For there upon a bed of soft wool lay the most splendid jewel, a jewel such as Dyson had never dreamed of, and within it shone the blue of far skies, and the green of the sea by the shore, and the red of the ruby, and deep violet rays, and in the middle of all it seemed aflame as if a fountain of fire rose up, and fell, and rose again with sparks like stars for drops.

– Arthur Machen, The innermost Light.

Forgive me if the below sounds a bit like BS – please be free to call me out!

It’s a snapshot taken on a forgotten day one summer about 15 or so years ago. The afternoon sun, diffused slightly by the banks of cloud, backlighting the scene as a stage; the extras walk on..

I wonder where these people are now? Who they were, what was going through their minds, how were their lives? How are they now?

I have never seen any of them again; but I’ve seen their like; they represent the multitudes the world over, millions of people all living their lives in every corner of the world.

There’s a saying which goes; “the world doesn’t revolve around you”. Oh but it does! how wrong this silly saying is; The world revolves around each and every single one of us, as individuals we each have our own reality, our own world; we are the epicentre of all that we behold!

I envisage this as each having an invisible world – almost as a globe, encased around them, containing every instant of waking, sleeping, seeing, loving and experiencing. Everything they were, are, do, and will be is in that little world within. Like a faceted dome of glass, filled with a pure white light which slowly fades, like a crystal lantern slowly burning itself out until it is exhausted and dies, their innermost light, their everything.

We aren’t a herd, we aren’t a collective, we are each individually the most important thing in the Universe, we are all, each and every single one, with a life which is a blessing. In every house in every square foot of land the world over there is a life being lived, precious and sovereign.

Look closely at the photograph… notice everyone. What is that guy filming with his Camcorder? The cast and the set? the little girl with the sunlit blonde hair wheeling her bicycle; she’s in a group – a woman now no doubt; the years having shed her of the all too short dreamlike summer of childhood, I wonder if she fondly remembers that time?

The large chap to the left, with the hooped shirt and flat cap with his young son looking up at him with delight? – I wonder what his son saw or asked, do you reckon that little smile is still there now his son is a man? I hope the time has been kind to him.

And the two girls right in front – is she looking at me or listening to her mate?

The couple to the right – I wonder what was  being said and whether any snippet of this private conversation has ever been remembered?

Who knows, as this tiny instance in time; the press of my shutter, has no doubt long been forgotten by everyone, except for me, ah! The sadness of life; years flow past us and we don’t know where the time has gone to, I know it’ll never return and I so often gaze at the life in this photo but then every single time my eyes wonder up to look at the face of big Ben and I notice it’s 4.25pm.

Strangeness which is the essence of beauty is the essence of truth, and the essence of the world. I have often felt that; when the ascent of a long hill brought me to the summit of an undiscovered height in London; and I looked down on a new land.

Arthur Machen.

South Bank, London, England.

Contax G2, 21mm Biogon T* @ f8. B+W Red 25 Filter
Fujifilm Neopan Acros 100. Developed in Ilfotec ID11
Konica Minolta Dimage Scan Dual IV.
Adobe LR 5 Macintosh Pro 2013.
Best viewed while listening to Simon and Garfunkel Bookends

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