everything smells like developer. you cannot escape it. it is in your clothes, your mouth, drying on your face. you wash your hands again and again and again, but the smell remains. you wonder what you have done to deserve this. the fixer won’t go back in the bottle.
you put your hands into the bag, only to find that your film, the scissors, the can opener, the reel...everything is gone. it’s not in the wrong layer. it’s just not there. you look around, but it is nowhere to be seen. a tear rolls down your cheek.
the camera has broken again. last week it wouldn’t open. this week it won’t close. you peer into the viewfinder to see a single eye staring back at you. it is laughing. it is laughing at you.
photoshop is deleting everything you have ever done. you are powerless to stop it. you control-alt-deleted too many times, and it will never stop. you watch, helpless, as your life’s work is deleted before your eyes. you try to restart the computer, but the computer is deleted too.
you begin to turn the darkroom door, but it won’t move. you realize someone else is turning it from the inside. you know if you both try to open the door, you will never survive. but you can’t concede. you couldn’t lift your hand if you tried. you keep turning, and turning, and turning.
your contact sheet won’t text you back.
your film has gone wrong. it is grayish-white, the color of the cerebellum. you peer at it from every angle, but you can see none of the pictures you thought you took. wait, what’s that? you squint at one area of the processed film, where you can see a blob. it is the antichrist. the end is coming.