Well, how did you think that they come to be dislodged, those photographs in the old albums? How many times have you opened one of those faux-leather bound books, only to be met with the sound of the glassine sheets unsticking from one another and the flutter of photographs dropping to the bottom of the page?
They move, of course. The people, I mean, not the books. Did you expect anything else from them? Did you think that they would be content to sit there, slipping further into sepia and collecting dust motes? Not likely; not when they are doomed to the gloomiest bookshelf in the gloomiest room of the house, sunlight only filing across those pages once or twice a decade.
Those long-unspoken passions, those piercing rivalries, that barely-concealed bonhomie – these were never likely to wither under the feather-light touch of death. They live on in those fixed smiles, those caught-unaware looks. Their owners slip between age-stiffened pages. They edge around the ragged corners of others’ photographs, spending afternoons or even entire seasons at beach holidays they never went on or listening to silent music recitals.
At a sound they slide back across those pages, back to where they are expected, with never more than a side-eye left or right to suggest where they have been wandering.
*Thanks for reading, folks. Image courtesy of congerdesign. My recent short stories include ‘Rendered Soft‘ and ‘Eyes Wide‘.
Matthew Richardson is a writer of short stories. His work has featured in Gold Dust magazine, Literally Stories, Close to the Bone, McStorytellers, Penny Shorts, Soft Cartel, Whatever Keeps the Lights On, Flashback Fiction, Cafelit, Best MicroFiction 2021, Writer’s Egg, Idle Ink, The Wild Word, and Shooter magazine. He is a doctoral student at the University of Dundee, a lucky husband, and a proud father. He blogs at www.matthewjrichardson.com.
Matthew Richardson 
Now I know, I always wondered. And do they get annoyed when we digitalise them and turn a tiny snap of themselves they never liked into a full screen picture?
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Haha I’d have thought so – much less room for mobility on a memory stick!
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A superb piece, Matthew. I wonder what they would think now that their images are trapped on tiny metallic cards, probably never to be seen again?
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Thanks Chris. I wonder as well. Immortality, but stuck behind sheets of plastic on a dusty shelf…
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What a fun and creative short story. Well done!
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My goodness, all those old photos – who are they now? Great piece, Matthew.
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Thanks Chris. A thing of the past in a few years, perhaps. There’s certainly not the same romanticism about scrolling through photos on a phone, that’s for sure!
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This imaginative sliver brought me back to a movie about all the museum statues coming to life in the darkness of night.
How long til glassine photo corners evoke a widespread “huh?,” do you think? I’m glad you’ve elevated them to story level.
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Oops! You wrote “glassine sheets,” but my mind went to ancient family photo albums I can’t destroy—in which the photos of people I never knew appeared on black pages, affixed by four little glassine envelopes at the corners.
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Ah I remember those as well!
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Ah, those old photo albums! The stories they tell, the stories they don’t; and, the tales we wish not to remember. Happy Writing My Friend..
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True.enough Goff. Some pages are perhaps better left unturned! I perhaps should have added that aspect to the story!
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Quite an imagination! Great story, Richard. Missed your writing but somehow your posts don’t hit my reader anymore. I haven’t seen you around either so I thought maybe you stopped writing. So glad to have found the site again. Take care.
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