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He traced each dusty frame with the tips of his fingers. The framed pictures looked old, torn and drained of colour. A few had cigarette holes burned through them. However, that didn’t prevent the scene of the picture to be seen. In ever picture, in every frame, was one girl. It was the same girl. It was girl who had pale skin, curly brown hair and passionate green eyes. You could say there are many girls with pale skin, brown hair and green eyes, but there was something different about this girl. Right between her neck and her shoulder, she had a scar. It was jagged and had more of a pink edge that to the rest of her skin. In some pictures she would wear her hair to the side to hide it, in others he scar would show bare.
“Who’s the girl in all your pictures?” the boy asked. He ripped his gaze from the frame he was holding to stare at the man who was standing by the window. The man’s back was facing the boy, giving him no indication of his expression. “Hello?” the boy asked, trying to gather his attention.
The man stood in the same position, but laughed. He laughed loud, as if some hilarious memory occurred to him. However, deep down the boy could tell it was anything but funny. Deep down, the man was remembering painful memories and to hide the pain he forced a laugh. “That girl…” he began to speak, turning around slowly. His features still weren’t visible in the darkness. “That girl…” he said again, his voice a whisper.
“Did you know her?” the boy asked, trying to pry some more information about the mysterious woman. The man slowly began to walk towards the boy. With every heavy step he took, the wooden floor would creak underneath. The boy’s breathing quickened. Even though he was in this man’s presence every day, he still never got over that frightened feeling.
“Oh, I knew her…” the man said stopping right in front the boy. His shadow loomed over the smaller person in front of him. He slowly turned to lift a picture frame in his hands. The man blew on the glass, making dust disperse into the air. The boy coughed as he inhaled the dusty particles. The man did nothing but huff.
The boy was eager to know who she was. He wanted to know why the man would sit by these picture frames every day and talk to them. The boy pondered why this girl had so much meaning to the man. It was the day where he finally had the courage to ask about her and the man didn’t as much as harm the lad. “Who is she?” the boy breathed, taking a step back.
The man suddenly jerked his head up. His dark eyes held purple circles underneath them. His lips were thin, white and cracked. The stubble darkened his face. However, that isn’t what shocked the boy every time he saw the man. It was the scar on his face. Half of his face was deformed, monstrous and blemished. It was totally different to the other half of his face, where his skin seemed a lot smoother. The man would say it was an accident, which caused the wound on his face. However, something in the man’s voice didn’t convince the boy. The burnt skin on the man’s face didn’t scream accident.
There was something about the girl in the pictures and about the scar on his face. The two linked up somehow and created the man’s past. However the boy couldn’t figure it out and the man wouldn’t give an answer, until today. The man smirked at the boy. “Who she is?” the corners of his mouth lifted up. “She was the love of my life…” he paused “and she still is.” He finished.
The boy looked at the man confused. He hadn’t seen this woman before, in fact he hand seen any woman interact with the man. He steered everyone away with his dark and evil vibes. He showed a strong and bad shell on the outside. The boy knew that beneath his strong exterior, there was a broken mess. He planned on finding out why. “Where is she now?” the boy asked, gathering more information. It was the first time the man would talk about the girl in the pictures; he might as well take advantage of it.
The man put the picture back down on the large oak shelf and placed both of his hands on the boy’s shoulders. “Son…” he paused to take a breath. “This girl kept running away from me, but I always found her. The last time I saw her she’d managed to escape from me once again. Then I had lost her; I had never found her again.’ The man said. His knees hit the floor and his hand covered the burnt flesh on his face.
“Dad.” The boy gasped. He knelt down in front of the man, gripping his knees tight. “What would you do, if you found her again?” the boy asked. The man looked up. His eyes were glossy and his mouth stretched into an evil smirk.
“Son,” he began “if I ever found her again…” he breathed and leaned in close to the boy’s ear. “I would make her mine.” He whispered.