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Narcissus and Echo update their statuses

May 30, 2012

The surface reflected his face perfectly. So he took the shot. Not as if it were a static image, held frozen in time, a falsely framed timeless shimmering. But a choice moment in his life, when he looked beautiful, eyes clear and hair softly shifting in the breeze against his forehead.

She yearned after him. Both for the image and the thing itself, the feeling she got when he looked at her, the heat between them. She messaged him and sometimes got a response.

He took another shot. Different angle. Electric light this time, inside. And another. At a party, screaming with delight, hanging off his friends, all of them rebelling against the concrete closures of time and business. Then one quaint, looking coy into the camera, under a tree. With someone famous. In front of his car. At the scenic spot.

She tracked him with a fervour almost as keen. He answered less. He got into gaming. Taking out the enemy, beating high scores. He joined chat rooms, made porn out of his own images and uploaded it open to the public, kept himself thin on a diet of soda and crackers, stared into the humming blue screen all night, slept during the day.

She watched and waited, hoping he would return to her embrace, in the flesh, the warm and loving boy she once knew, who was now slowly becoming a mere cipher on the ether, an avatar of himself and everything he wanted to be. She got the call and looked to the wall of her bedroom, realising somewhere deep inside that she had known it was coming. She pined after him, poor lost soul in love with his image, and kept returning to his pages each day, although now without hope, a faint echo of herself and the girl she used to be, or could have become.

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