My Cousin’s Camera

My Cousin’s Camera

Courtesy car-accidents.com

Written by Ken Carman

So sad. I returned to the old Ford truck my cousin had been driving that day. A semi had slid and tipped sideways into us during a brief, freak, ice storm. No one’s fault. He had been killed instantly and the town mourned.

Small town where he had been the basketball hero where basketball was only played by Gods. He had been loved by everyone, and he seemed to return the worship.

Oh, hi. I forgot to introduce myself. I’m the town slut. Not really, damn that Jimmy Higgins. Refuse to let the teen perv into your panties and lies flow like at a political convention. But no one trusts me. No one believes me. No one ever believes “the slut.”

I’ve just escaped the hospital after months of therapy, needles, operations and generally being looked own upon as, “Why couldn’t we save Jimmy instead of a bimbo like you?” The remains of the Ford truck are at Jerry’s towing, and Jerry reluctantly allowed me to get a few things out of the smashed carcass… including Jimmy’s camera.

Jerry, the 60 year old fool, has been hot for me since he found out what everyone in town has been saying. He doesn’t understand why I ignore his moves, though he’s been slapped a few times by his wife for an occasional comment she overhears.

I’ve turned the camera on and I’m looking at the pictures, hoping to see all that’s left of my cousin. The camera is loaded with pictures of dogs and cats, still alive at the moment of the snap. Their fur ripped off. Needles in their ears and eyes. The town had thought there was a pet snatcher prowling around and, yes, there was, wasn’t there Jimmy?

Then there’s the next to last picture of Allison Kreed, in absolute terror. She just disappeared a few days before the accident, they found her as if she had been mauled by a bear. And the last picture is of me, arms outstretched as if holding the camera: nasty grin on my face. I remember when he took this. He told me, because he was always interested in making cameras do weird things, he was trying to make it look like I took it myself.

Oh, Jimmy, what were you doing, and who will believe me?

What do I do now?
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Ken Carman
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