Afterlife: Reincarnation

28

June 21

LANE

I tucked my feet under myself further, curling in on myself in the small, uncomfortable chair. I knew it was stupid to think, but I would have given anything for a nice, soft couch right about then. Like the one I had back at Mia's, that I could just sink into, comfortable and plush, and feel like I could disappear. Here, all I had were single, hard, ass numbing chairs that made it difficult for me to contort the way I wanted.

I knew I could always just sit like a normal person. Butt on chair, legs over edge, feet on floor. But that was even more uncomfortable to me than my current predicament. At the moment, I was perched on the top of the chair, trying to pull my legs under me enough to sit cross legged in some form. I knew I could always sit on the floor, but that would have made too much sense. At least from where I sat, I could lean against the back of the counter behind me if I so chose.

Laying across my legs was one of the iPads. I had been sitting in comm for the last hour, and I will fully admit I was hiding. Ever since the night at the village, the night that still haunted me, gave me nightmares, and was burned into my soul, I had felt different. I couldn't place what it was that made me feel that way, but I knew I had been changed. Something about me would never be the same, and I knew I would never be able to erase the memories of that night from my mind.

I acted normal, I went through my day. I ate with the crew, I laughed with Erin when she talked about her and Rob and their trysts. I assisted in the clinic, and I tried to make it seem like everything was fine. But deep down, I just couldn't seem to let it go. It was always in my head, images of bodies, and sounds of screaming. I had never seen anything like that before, and prayed that I never would again.

And yet, here I was, curled up on a horrible little chair in comm, hunched over an iPad looking through the images I had taken that night. As if the ones in my mind weren't enough, I was masochistic enough to relive it through the photographs I had taken.

I had been so afraid to take a photo. How do you go somewhere like that, witness something like that, and just stand back and take photographs? Like an intrusive fucking tourist while others are dying and afraid. Yes, that was my job. And yes, it had been one that I wanted more than anything. But in that moment, all the good intentions and hopes for change through the medium went right out the fucking window. It felt contrite and infantile, when this was a reality. This was life. This moment was real.

That feeling hadn't seemed to fade as the days passed. It lessened, slightly, but I feared that my love of my chosen path would always been tainted with this night. That it would never hold the same passion, the same draw and the same determination it once had for me.

Looking through my images, I felt slightly detached from them. I remembered taking each one, the reason for each one, and the thought of impact for each one. I knew they were well done, and overall, captured the horror and struggle of that night from almost every angle. From the smoke covered silhouettes on the littered dirt road, to the lifeless bodies of victims, to the diligent efforts of the medical team and local military to try and put some order and reason back into the lives of those effected. It was a progression, each image impactful, haunting and just what I would have always wanted to create in a moment like that.