The Lady in the Photograph

I just met the man of my dreams! I met him at the pub—and you must think, wow! What a great place to meet a stranger! But really, he's very descent! He's works as a porter at the local hospital and I think that's very descent, don't you think? Well, what matters is that we have chemistry. It just blew my mind! I couldn't believe it myself you know, to meet such a handsome, smart, funny and lots more (if you know what I mean) at a pub! He was just amazing!

Also, he's got this alpha male going on. I was teasing him, pretending to cancel our second date and we wound up shagging in his car! On the second date, no less. I've never gone this far with guy so fast. I'm having the time of my life! I could go on forever how gorgeous he is and how simply wonderfully we get along.

I told my mum all about him and she wants a picture.I totally get where she's coming from. Now that I think of it, I do need a picture of him. I'll get it developed to perfectly fit my wallet so I could have a piece of Mitchell everywhere I go. I wish I could record his voice too, because oh my gosh, talk about sexy, Irish brogues.

Oh, is that the doorbell I hear? I open it, and it's Mitchell! He looks great, as always, dressed in a leather jacket over his red shirt, some dark pair of jeans, a pair of rugged boots and those sexy fingerless gloves. I love his fingers. He's got very talented fingers. "Come in!" He shuts the door behind him and we find ourselves smiling from ear to ear at each other. It's madness, I love it! He kisses me and while he does, I get the camera from beside my door.


"What have you done?" Mitchell says all serious.

"Oh my, why am I kissing the wi—"

There was this very sharp pain in my neck, a cracking sound, and then a complete silence and blackness enveloped me. Then, I saw myself lying bloody on the carpet in front of the door. Mitchell crying as I could hear, over my dead body. I didn't understand. What was happening? Was I dreaming? Is this one of those nightmares about how I have such bad taste in picking boyfriends?

"Oh my gosh, Mitchell. What did you do to me?" The words barely come out. I hear it, and I'm scared that this might all be real.

The head of curly hair turns around and reveals Mitchell's mouth, covered in blood. My blood. "Mitchell?" The horror was so stupefying. I couldn't scream.

"Annie, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to kill you. You were going to take a picture."

"What? You killed me? I'm dead? For real?"

He nodded. "I'm so…"

"Am I dreaming? Oh my god, you killed me."

"I'm so sorry Annie!" he crawled over to me and cried on my boots. I wanted to kick him but I couldn't. I couldn't do anything. I was nearing catatonic.

"I can't be dead. I'm 22. I've got my whole life ahead of me!" I was whispering to myself mainly.

"I'm sorry, Annie. I was scared. The world can't know about us."

"Mitchell, you killed me because of a photograph?" I looked down at my tear-stained boots, and the mess of a man crying on it.