Emily missing. My sister. For weeks I had edited her last moments; five minutes cast in celluloid. The final frames of our home movie. She waved at the camera as she went for ice-cream alone. It haunts my soul even now. I have seen that movie a thousand times.
In the weeks after it happened, I was obsessed. I watched a constant loop broken only by meagre scraps of food and disturbed sleep, until all hope seemed lost to me. I finally pulled myself from a pit of stench and went walking, in search of enough sustenance to keep me watching for a few more hours.
I wandered through a marketplace and met a man, dark skinned and wearing elaborate robes. His weeping silver eyes caught my attention. He gazed through me. A welcoming smile and a bony finger beckoned my attendance. His other hand tightly clutched an empty brass bowl. Without a word he motioned for me to sit. He produced a skewer from his sleeve. He worked the tip deep into his left eye. I watched in horror as a thick silver liquid oozed from his eye into his brass bowl. He handed it to me, told me I’d know what to do.
Holding the bowl of liquid sliver, I left. He would accept nothing in return. In confusion I ambled back to my apartment. The video of Emily was still on loop, as I’d left it. For some reason I began to trickle the liquid from the bowl over the screen. When I’d completely covered it with the silver liquid I finally smiled. I pressed my face to the screen’s surface. It gave way. I began to laugh and climbed through.
Somewhere in an apartment a video plays on loop. The last minutes of a home movie. Brother and sister waving as they go for ice-cream.