Trained to Snap
Flash fiction
The cup of hot tea steamed before me. I was sitting in the shade outside and the cafe inside was bustling with tourists. The city looked small and still from this hill, like a model you find in the offices of architects. Earlier in the morning I had decided that I would refrain from taking any pictures that day. It had become the most stubborn of all my habits to get rid of.
The urge to snap away the moment anything vaguely interesting appeared before me was irresistible. Was it really vital that I captured so much of what I saw? It was as if they would be snatched away from me if I didn’t store them. Can you really be robbed of your memories? Or was I scared of losing them, of forgetting the moments which brought me joy? By keeping them safe perhaps they could one day serve as a reminder of that joy?
It was a hot afternoon with little or no breeze to cool it down, as though the wind was on holiday as well with only the sun left on duty. Why had I ordered a hot drink? It was a strange choice but I knew why. It wasn’t the tea I was after, it was more the image I was chasing. I wanted to take a close-up of the steam rising from the cup set against the backdrop of the city. My endless, compulsive snapping had trained my mind to view reality through the prism of pictures. It was now hard to see the world without wondering how it would look in a picture.
