#48 “…Tears were streaming down her melancholy face.”

I walked up the stairs of this two-story building, and as I entered the second floor, I stepped into a large, open room- the walls completely covered in windows, a hardwood floor, clean and sunny light.  I seemed to be some sort of photographer or journalist, and I walked around the room that was full of a class of kids- probably in the seventh or eighth grade.  they were all singing a song in a foreign language, and they all sat on the floor and laid out these huge posters that they were all painting with vibrant colors.  There was one talented artist in the group- a girl, about 13, with gorgeous red curls just past her shoulder, painting a beautiful swirly picture.  I asked if I could take her picture and she said no.  I took pictures of the other kids, and when i knew she wasn’t looking, snapped a quick candid of the red head.  at the time, i thought she was laughing, but when i looked back in the picture, tears were streaming down her melancholy face.  I fell in love, so to say, with the picture of the girl I had just taken, and when I looked back up to the girl, there was a large, booming thunder and the sky darkened. All of the children ran for cover, and then- there was an explosion. The building collapsed.  There were smoke clouds and fires everywhere, and I stood in the middle of the flames and dust, staring back at the picture of the red head, my only memory of her.