Sunday

It was a drowsy morning until the old mill caught on fire. It grew ablaze with amber light that reflected off of our faces. Ready with my camera, I snaked around between the firemen, careful not to get in their way. The cops had yet to rope off the area; I could not let this chance slide. These men stood lined up along the curb awaiting orders. I snapped the photo of the moment and backed away just before a whistle was blown and the firemen charged into the building like proud warriors into battle. Even as the ground shook around us, they never looked back, never slowed down in fear, and never wailed in self-pity. They simply charged forwards as I clicked a new picture from the sidelines like a helpless bystander.

The police ordered me to leave the location, so I headed back to the Underground clicking through my photos on my camera. I settled on my favorite, the line of the firefighters, when the train pulled up and I hopped on and took a seat. This is the first time I considered truly pursuing taking on photography as a career. I realized which a new set of eyes how a person can communicate not only feelings but also real emotion in a picture, maybe even a story. I thought that these firemen had a story to tell and that it was my duty to tell it. Five stations down and six to go, I pack up my camera and wait patiently for my stop.

My dear JoAnna was waiting for me for lunch with our dog Domino on her lap. We sat down at the table as I eagerly presented my photos to her.

"I've been watching the news," she told me, "I started to get worried when you didn't come back right away."

"You know how curious we all are about those sort of things," I responded as I clicked for my favorite picture, "Look at this one."

JoAnna leaned in and narrowed her eyes as she examined the highlight of my yield.

She looked at me, "That's really good," she said, "Maybe you should take up photography."

I put down my camera onto the table. "Actually," I started, "Now that you mention it..."

"What?"

"I think I might go after becoming a professional photographer."

"What?"

"You know, as opposed to working at the paper company," I said as I shifted around in my seat.

JoAnna raised her eyebrows. "You're serious?" she asked.

"Yes," I responded.

JoAnna sighed and picked up Domino who immediately made a lunge for her plate. "I don't know if that is the best idea right now. Photography is a difficult industry according to my knowledge. I feel it would be a good idea to stay where we are right now," She explained as she stroke our dog. I pursed my lips and nodded. She continued, "Once I get this deal done at the laboratory, then we might be able to risk you being out of work for a while."

I, even though I was disappointed, agreed with her.

Later that evening, we watched the news as red letters danced across the screen reading:

BREAKING NEWS: EIGHT FIREMEN DIE DURING RESCUE MISSION

My heart stopped. All those men in my prized photo are now dead, and I was the last person to take a picture of them. A pang of immense guilt surged through me like a flood. How could I have taken joy in taking a photo of these men's last moments alive?

Nevertheless, as I scan through my email I decide to send my photo to the local online news. Maybe they might like to do something with it, I thought, maybe I can still use this picture for good.