Undeveloped

He assumed they were just not used to the intricate mechanisms of a Browning Box camera. Images of his young life never taken. An undeveloped child, an unrecorded life. At aged seven an awkward boy was caught on an obligatory school photo. A sole token; evidence of a former existence. Later friends shared images of their youth, while parents beamed over shoulders. Piles of recorded years as thick as decks of cards were brought out and examined. He gulped at the spontaneity of the fingers, that clicked off every smile and giddy event. After they died, death revealed several spools of undeveloped films. He knew that any faded moments contained within them would never be his moments. He had long chose not to be invisible, or a victim to any closed or shuttering window.