Nothing has held my attention the past decade so strongly, except for the fascinating little boxes that seemed to capture precious moments with a click and a flash of light. Sadly, this box is the reason I became the outcast of my clan for the past twelve years.
See, I am a part of a clan at the Botanical Garden where we spend our days trying to make the garden a place for both the living and the dead to peacefully cohabitate and coexist. Since our presence is deeply resented, we try our hardest to remain invisible.
As I mindlessly swayed around on the eve of my hundredth death anniversary – a little heartbroken by everyone’s negligence of the day and occasion – I noticed two men with one of those boxes. I realised, maybe they had planned for me to take a photo as a surprise. I quickly made my way in front of the black box and struck a pose beside the man before the other could take a photo. I believe this act happens in such an unexpected manner, people have given it the name “photobomb”. Suddenly, the man looked at the photo he’d just taken and fell to the ground, senseless. Within seconds, the entire clan hovered over. Their red eyes, somehow brighter, stared at me with rage.
Syeda Afrin Tarannum would choose ‘The Script’ over ‘G-Eazy’ any day. Continue ignoring her taste in music on firstname.lastname@example.org