The prompt: “Welcome home.” 20 Minutes

“Welcome Home” the tattered banner proclaimed, leftover from a long ago past. What had happened here, and who had participated? The photographer wandered from room to abandoned room, moving furniture and debris as he saw fit. A pastel blue dress left hanging, an empty broken bed frame. Evidence of recent squatters proved he wasn’t the only person to see this disgusting beauty. He stepped over the broken beer bottles, careful not to land on any rusty nails. Braving the rotting stairs, he found rooms untouched by desperate eyes. A bathroom cupboard with dried up cosmetics. What had caused the people to leave? Why was one shoe deemed more important then the other? Finished, he put away his camera, and carefully climbed out a glass-less window. The cooling breeze swept his clothing, and he realized how stale the house had smelled. He’d cut himself somewhere, and would now have to get a tetanus shot. These things people would not think of when viewing his art. They would talk about depth, contrast, composition… To him these were just byproducts. The fun was in obtaining a subject. The subtle scar he would have on his left palm, the stain on his pant leg, these lasted longer then a photo. They were his memory.

Anaïs Liston, 12th grade

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