In the dim light of the setting Sun, a man had a thought and a camera. However, from these two items, a problem quickly arose. The man was a photographer, and he was known around his small town for taking “enchanting” and “ethereal” photos of the surrounding land. He was proud of his work, and he did not see an end to his hobby in sight. He would walk around quietly, observing every object for a detail that he would single out and deem picture-worthy. It was a pastime that took a great deal of effort, yes, but after every single photo, the man could confidently say that the quality of each unique photo he took was worth more than the time spent taking it.
He wanted to take a picture of the setting Sun, the most mesmerizing sunset his eyes had ever gazed upon, in fact, but his camera, as much as he loved it, could not see the sight as well as his eyes could. The scene before him made him feel different inside. He simply could not put it into words. The sight itself wasn’t the only thing enrapturing him, no. It was the feeling of standing there before the biggest object he—and anyone else in the world, for that matter—had ever laid eyes upon as it proudly presented its presence. His eyes saw emotion in the trees that filtered the Sun’s light into a dazzling kaleidoscope of rays, and his camera saw leaves. His eyes saw love around the swirling colors of the descending star, but his camera saw only pink clouds. He eventually gave up for the day, surrendering his fantasies of capturing the elusive, inspirational skyscape to the folly of his camera.
However, even in the stillness of night, he could not rid himself of the memory of the scene that graced his eyes. It had changed him for the better. The sight of the sunset, its gold, pink, and orange tones, seized him so intensely that he was not sure it would release him. Yet, in the back of his ever-spinning mind, he had doubts that he wanted it to do so. It made him sick to his stomach that his camera could not see as he could, and, being the man he was, he would not sit idly by and let the Sun's beautiful show fall upon blind eyes. For he could see, and what he saw enchanted him.
Throughout the next day, the man could hardly focus on any task he engaged in. He sat in his room, struggling to find another muse. He photographed insects, flowers, and even his oldest pair of shoes. Despite all of his efforts, flashes of the marvelous sunset the day prior kept appearing before his eyes, reminding him of what he longed to see and preserve. It blinded him, sending him into a restless rampage around his room, desperate to gaze upon the light seeping from the sky and pooling into the horizon. He tore open drawers, scattered papers, and even hurled his chair at the wall, wanting to be free from the prison he had been trapped in by the marvelous star.
In the middle of his episode, the Sun streamed in through his window, taunting him, mocking him, beckoning him to try and capture all of its secrets. He froze and turned his face towards it, basking in the light of his new obsession. It fueled him, filling him to the brim with a passion he’d felt very few times before. The man, with the glorious rays hitting his face, was struck with a silence he found he could not break. It was such a sudden occurrence that it frightened him, making him tremble. He stared out of the window at the sky nervously, wondering if he had somehow offended the Sun.
The Sun’s comforting rays pulled him back to a peaceful state of mind. So peaceful that he found himself drawn out of the window by the rays, floating in the essence of the wondrous warmth before him. He levitated above the treetops, getting closer to his one muse, his one inspiration. When he was high above the mountains, and well above any cloud, the Sun spoke to him in a deep, booming voice.
“Welcome, mortal.”
The man did not respond, as he was overcome with an odd sensation. His whole body tingled, and he felt that his blood was replaced by hot sand. He assumed it was from the shock of sharing the heavens with his greatest inspiration. The Sun addressed him again, not losing any of its bravado.
“Capture me in all of my magnificence, Man. Preserve what you praise, and do not miss a single detail,” the Sun asserted.
The man had no time to answer before he was dropping out of the sky, falling quickly through the air. He looked around as he crashed through the atmosphere, seeing the same magnificent colors he had laid his eyes upon just the day before. The reds, golds, pinks, and dark blues caught the man, slowly drifting him into his room, depositing him in his bed. Everything turned black for quite some time.
He awoke the next day feeling inspired and rejuvenated. The air seemed fresher, and his surroundings brighter. The interaction with his muse yesterday had heightened his senses, giving him a new view of the world. It filled him with a joy so intense he was afraid he would just burst. Some more rational part of his brain told him that what he was feeling was useless, as the entire ordeal had to be a dream. He listened not to his brain’s rationality, but to his heart, his passion, as what was there felt more real and alive than anything he had felt before.
As he gazed at his camera that was sitting among the wreck he had once called his bedroom, the Sun’s request had come back into his mind, and he was determined to fulfill it. His muse itself had wanted him, one human in a sea of many, to capture its picture. He felt honored and filled with pride. He would not let his magnificent Sun down. The perfect photo of the true Sun would be captured, and he would be the one to do it.
So, the man waited until sunset that very same day to complete the task. He was practically quaking with excitement as the Sun went lower, lower, and lower. As it hovered just above the horizon, the man deemed the Sun in the perfect position. For a few moments, he sat and marveled at the beautiful sight. It was just as he remembered it that life-changing evening.
As the moment was absolutely perfect, he realized he needed to finish prepping the camera. If he wanted the camera to see as he did, he would need to make a generous donation to the lens. He held up a sharp knife that was so shiny it reflected the Sun’s beautiful rays. He slid the knife up the right side of his face and stopped as the point pressed into his bottom eyelid, not yet breaking skin. He took a deep breath, gazing at the Sun so the image would be saved in his eye. Then, he slid the knife under his eyeball, screaming as the Sun went down. As the star dropped, it encouraged him.
A voice boomed through his mind. “Capture me, Man. Do it right.”
‘I will,’ the man thought. ‘Just a few more seconds.’
With a jerk of his hand, his eye came out. He screamed even louder, the sound echoing through the evening. The pain clouded his mind, made him weak and dizzy. He severed the tie with his eyeball and his head—the optic nerve. The colors of the sunset swirled around in his mind, encouraging him and reminding him of his goal. His remaining eye looked down at the camera in his hands, seeing the blood spattered across the lens. He pressed his evicted eyeball onto the lens, the iris against the glass.
He pushed the button on his camera, hearing the click. He also heard sirens in the distance, the sound rattling painfully around his skull like a marble in a glass bowl. As he looked up at the falling Sun, he felt a sense of immense satisfaction. He had done it. He granted the Sun’s wish and proved himself worthy. Before disappearing completely, the Sun spoke to him.
“Congratulations, Man. As we both descend together, you shall rise and wait for me in the Sky.”
The man nodded to nothing in particular, feeling proud that he was chosen by the intimidating star. He looked on with joy as the sun dipped below the horizon, completely disregarding the police officers that appeared out of nowhere telling him to drop the knife. All that mattered to him, in this breathtaking moment, was uniting with the Sun forever, at last.
The man fell to the ground with his face skyward, feeling a hint of irritation as silhouettes suddenly obstructed the view. However, as he took his last breath, he felt himself ascending. Past the people around him, over the trees, and above the clouds. He was back with the Sun. He felt full with pride and faith as he floated in front of the warm star, just as he had before.
The man gazed at the Sun, not minding how it burned his eye. He spoke up to the Sun in a shaky voice.
“My Sun, I must ask you a question.”
“Speak, Mortal.”
“Do not think of me ungrateful—it is quite the opposite, really. But...why did you choose me, of all the humans in the world?”
“I have my reasons, Mortal. Reasons your limited mind will never understand. I see the Past, the Present, and the many versions of the Future all of the time, and you joining me is crucial for the Future to play out as I desire. For the good of Mortalkind.”
THE END