Distortion: Dis-tor-sion

                 Noun

In Photography, distortion is a warping or transformation of an object and its surrounding     area that differs significantly from what the object would look like with a normal focal length.

Ten years have passed since he found his father dead.

Five years have passed since his mother lost her mind.

Things were changing.

Jiyong walks up the narrow pathway lined with knee high grass on either side. He stops in front of the wooden stairs slightly weathered by the elements that led up to the porch. The stairs creaked softly as it took Jiyong’s weight. His footsteps echo on the wooden floor as he reaches for his keys, which he places into the rusty lock, a soft grating sound can be heard as rust and dust are loosened from the internal organs of the lock. A firm click can be heard before the door opens. The smell of dust and history greets him. This old small two story house which lies on the outskirts of this mediocre town, will be Jiyong’s new home.

After trying his best to look after his mother, Jiyong finally lost the battle, fatigue and anger riddled his body as he was weighed down his mother’s abuse. Constant false accusation of abuse and neglect from his mother led Jiyong to pack up his things and find a new beginning. He left his mother with money, a middle aged caretaker, a number to call and he never looked back.

Several hours of cleaning and unpacking, Jiyongs new house was starting to resemble a living space. The last place he needs to check out is the attic. He pulls down the creaky wooden ladder, dust flying into his eyes as he opens the trap door. He pokes his head up; it is just a normal dusty attic, blobs of dust and mouse crap lining the wall. Jiyong’s nose itches, his eyes watering slightly as he makes a mental note to buy some mouse traps. He thought the space was empty until he saw a small wooden box in the very corner of the room. Despite the surrounding, the box looked almost well taken care of, only the slightest sheen of dust on it. He wipes away the dust revealing a name that somehow seemed familiar, like an old friend. He takes it with him as he grabs some old rags to give the attic a quick dusting so that he could store what he didn’t need. Feeling satisfied for the first time in a long time Jiyong grabs a drink and goes out onto the porch. The old wood creaks as he settles himself on the steps. He takes a long swig as he watched the highway the passes in front of his house. The only way in and out of the dilapidated town, a town so small that if you blink you would miss it. Jiyong watches as a truck zooms past in a hurry to reach its destination, driving so fast as if afraid to linger too long and catch the depressive disease lurking in this town. Jiyong watched the truck until it’s a small speck in the distance. How he wishes that he could just jump onto that truck and be taken away to some far off destination.

He reaches for the wooden box that he brought with him from the attic. On closer inspection, the wooden box was skillfully crafted, a golden latch holding it closed. Jiyong reached into the box, his eyes widen in surprise, and excitement bubbling from a place he didn’t know existed anymore. He felt like a child getting a present, a reward almost. He the old machine gently. He takes it out slowly, scared that a single jolt would shatter this piece of history. Snap. His heart beating excitedly as the machine slowly ejects a piece of paper, an image slowly forming as time wore on. Jiyong smiled for the first time in a long time, he had just acquired a working vintage Polaroid camera.

Jiyong hummed to himself as the Kang family arranged themselves in front of the camera, Mrs. Kang trying to keep two young children still for the picture, their older child stood awkwardly next to Mr. Kang who was busy arranging his clothes to make sure that at least he would look fine in the family portrait. On a normal day, Jiyong would be angrily directing people, but today everything was fine, a rare day. The buzz from his discovery has yet to fully dissipate. Jiyong checked into the lenses of the camera, and motions for the family to get closer together. When Jiyong decide that this was as it will get, he started the countdown.

“One… Two… Three… Smile!” He says monotonously although he was trying his best to sound excited.

He took a couple in a row in hopes that at least one of them was decent.

“Ok.” He says as he looks at the family, but somehow there was a disappointed look in the eyes of the children. Taking photos were a pretty big deal in this town, a rare occasion. Although Jiyong had no children of his own, nor was he fond of children; he couldn’t help but feel sympathy for the children.

“Maybe another one?” He suggests. The children visibly perked up at his suggestion.

“It’s a little old, but we could give it a try…” He says as he reaches for the old camera. Holding the camera in his hands sent tingles running up his arm.

“Ok! Get ready… One. Two. Three.” A soft click followed by some mechanical grinding eventually produced a picture; he waited for it to develop. His lips turns up a little bit, not quite a smiles, but close enough. The children and Mrs. Kang look happy, but then his heart jerked when he saw the empty space where Mr. Kang should have been. Is the Machine defective after all? He takes another shot just to make sure.

Again, a blank spot; the grey background appearing where Mr. Kang should have been.

“Is something the matter?” Mr. Kang asks.

“No.” Jiyong lies, “It’s probably just because of its old.”

But it wasn’t. It happened again, when the child of the Kim family didn’t show up, and again when the owner of the local diner came to get a picture. It occasionally produces a complete picture, but that it rare occasion. Mostly it produced the grey background, as if the person has been effectively cut out of the picture, the rest of the picture perfectly intact as if the missing person was never supposed to be there to begin with. Whenever this phenomenon happen Jiyong’s heart would beat erratically as he swiftly pocketed the picture, later adding it to the growing pile in a box in the corner of his studio.

He takes out the box, adding yet another to the pile. He fingers the ones lying on the top, what did they mean? The office phone rings, it was the police department, asking for the crime scene photos. Being the only photographer in the town, Jiyong was often called to photograph some petty crime scene, a break in, some vandalism. The police department was short handed, or more accurately it only consisted of two police officers, or at least that is what everyone assumed, maybe there are some that just never bother to show up at work. Jiyong was familiar with both them; one of them being his old classmate, the other was just simply a bit too ‘friendly’.

Jiyong walks into the police station, the cream colored walls stain with Black Hand prints along the wall. The friendly one was on duty, staring blankly at a fly circling lazily in the air.

“Hello Seungri. Where’s Seunghyun?”

“Somewhere back. I’ll call him.” Seunghyun says as he pushes his chair out. “HYUNG~!” He says playfully. When there is no reply, Seungri abandons his post, happy to have an excuse to leave the boring table.

Jiyong stood looking around, the place never changed in over 10 years, since his dad hung himself. He remembers the dingy desk that Seungri sat in, the plastic chairs lining the white walls. The very chairs he sat in as he filled in the information required for him to get his father’s death certificate. Jiyong blinks away the image. Perhaps the only thing that really changed about the place is the increasing handprints on the wall. A piece of paper dancing in the air catches Jiyong’s eye. A large corkboard, framed with a simple stains wood, housed countless white papers with grey pictures of nameless faces, Missing printed carefully on the top with a short description printed in fine print at the very bottom. So many he could barely see the full face as the pages overlapped. Bang. Bang. Bang. Jiyong’s heart beat against his chest. Jiyong’s eye dart from one face to another, his hands reach out and start flipping through the white paper butterflies pinned to the board. The faces of the missing stood out in Jiyong’s mind, connecting the missing to a family. In his haste, one of the pages came loose in his hand. He moved away from the board as his world started spinning; Mr. Kang’s face smiled back at him. Missing, just like how he was missing from the Polaroid.