a photographer

the flashes of the camera hurt my eyes which were already sored with dry tears.
the blood trickled down my face.
down my bare arms and chest.
down the chains that held me to this chair.
i squinted, asking for a reason, a reason as to why this had to happen to me.

he dropped his camera, grabbed my chin.

because, he said, because i love you. because i care for you.

he stopped, he seemed to be examining my face. his gloved fingers rested on my chin as he tilted my head left and right, almost reading the scars he had left upon my face. he turned my head to the left, so i was facing the floor.

he instructed my to keep my head like that, patting my cheek twice with his hand. he slinked back, laughing a searing laugh.
a laugh that hurt more than the knife or the belt.

he stooped to pick up something.
he asked me, between his sadistic chuckles, to say cheese.
a bright flash.

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