Blog #7: Old Rain. New Evidence?

Turning the rusted, regal doorknob, Kit walked into his childhood home and stepped in. Pushing back some overwhelmingly mixed feelings he had about being there, Kit focused on the task at hand: finding the polaroid. As he jogged up the stairs and into his room, puffs of dust shot up, leaving a light trail of footprints.

For the first time in his life, Kit was glad his mother was a sentimental hoarder. He plowed through a box labeled "OLD BACKPACKS." When Kit finally found the tattered old bag, he reached into the concealed zipper, hoping the picture was still there.

After the rainy encounter with Mr. Evans, Kit had not once remembered to give the polaroid back or even been curious enough to examine it. Now, six years later, he found himself staring at a polaroid that was stuck in the past -its edges were brown yet the image remained as undeveloped as it was the day Kit first picked it up. In what he knew was a futile attempt, Kit wiped the little square on his jeans, hoping it was just a film of dust. All he could see were shadowy figures, one seeming to hold -or push- the other. He held it up to the light, but there were lots of dark speckles distorting the image.

Could they be raindrops? What if this was taken the very day I bumped into him?

After an hour of contemplation, Kit finally decided to hand it over to the police. Before he got there, however, he met Lamar.

“What you doin’ out so late, kiddo?”

“I-I think I might have something connected to Mr. Evans.”

As sudden as lightning, Lamar’s tone shifted, “You have proof? What is it? Where did you find it?”

Frazzled by the hammering, Kit hesitantly took half a step back. “Its several years old, it's just a polaroid he’d dropped.”

“Oh, and you suddenly decided to return a dead man’s things, huh? That’s not what I think, son, it’s what they’re gonna say in there. No one will take you seriously, especially those inexperienced idiots. You know what? Let me see it, maybe I can get somethin’ done’.”

Suddenly not wanting anything to do with the polaroid, Kit thrust out the picture, hand shaking violently. Darkness spread through the sky, and with it, Kit’s weariness. Kit turned and left, hoping this was the end of it.

Blog #6: A Polaroid

Kit awoke to the alarm as he did on most days: groaning and frustrated at the little sleep he got. He screened his eyes as he turned the blinds, ready for the attack of bright light. He was met by none. Slightly fazed by the fog that was blocking his view of anything and everything outside his window, Kit trudged to the front door and swept in the newspaper. Squinting at the unusual headline -"Ether Maitland Murdered"- Kit wondered why the same seemed so familiar, but before he could figure it out, the fog that had somehow invaded the building's corridor engulfed him through the still-open door.

Kit awoke to a ringing alarm again, but six years younger and in a previous home. Kit got ready and headed to school, equipped with five pencils and an eraser, nervous yet ready to take his first SAT. As he made his way across town, he wished he'd taken the bus for the thick fog that morning was worse than the pressing darkness at night. Trying to make sure he was going in the right direction, Kit was concentrating on the GPS on his phone when he bumped into something. Or someone, to be more specific.

"Ow! I'm so sorry, it's the fog and-"

"Don't worry about it, boy," said a gruff, familiar voice.

"Mr. Evans?" Kit was so grateful to hear the friendly man's voice in that he didn't notice how unusually strained it was.

"Can't... stop now, Kit. I've got somewhere to be."

Shocked at the old man's drastically changed demeanor, Kit wondered if he had said something wrong. Mr. Evans was the most amiable old man he knew, and he enjoyed listening to his youthful stories. Yet today he seemed distracted enough to march off without a proper hello. Momentarily muddled, it was a few seconds before Kit saw something on the ground. He picked it up, thinking he would give it to Mr. Evans later. When Kit touched the wet, thick square, he realized it was a partially formed polaroid picture. Unable to see clearly in the fog, Kit stuffed it into his bag.

As Kit went to bed that night, turning up the volume on his headphones to drown out the loud arguments in the next room, he forgot all about the little polaroid.

The next morning, Kit woke up in an apartment, six years older once more.