Tag Archives: Disturbing

The picture that bothers me

On my desktop, I’ve been in the habit of saving thousands of pictures from the internet.  I have loaded them into a screensaver so that each one dissolves into the next, after a few seconds.  Most of them have been collected because they elicit some kind of emotional response from the viewer, or at least from me.

They may be beautiful, awe inspiring, humorous, sexy, cute, etc.

One is particularly horrific, but for some reason I saved it, and have left it on there.  Out of the thousands of images in this screensaver, it seems to show up like a bad penny when I have left the computer running for any length of time.

It is apparently from World War Two, and I remember reading some of the background behind it.

Fuzzy, and in black & white, we are shown a large pit piled with dozens of dead bodies.  On the rim of the pit kneels a man in a shabby overcoat, hands tied behind his back.  An SS Officer stands over him and holds a gun to his head.  The most disturbing things for me about this image?  The man’s face at the moment of his death.  You would expect a countenance contorted with fear, but what you see is him looking at the camera with a blank expression, seeming to ask “Why?” Then there is the cold and sneering face of his executioner that reminds us of what we, as a species, are capable of.

Someone had to have taken that picture, and that leads to another disturbing thought.  Why was it taken?  As a trophy?  As a proof of body count?  As a warning?  In those days, there were no cellphones, so it couldn’t have been taken covertly.

Why have I kept it?  If it was through prurience, please forgive me.  But, I do not think so.  I was not searching for something of this nature, and it shocked me on first viewing.  I keep it as a reminder of our baser instincts, and of the need to be personally more kind to those around us.  I have seen a soul about to be lost, and the emptiness within its eyes.

#14 Things in the swamp (not at all pleasant)

we’ve been led here. I feel we have. on a forest picnic so bright and sunny. dappled trails. you wanted bare feet, and carried your funny shoes. mossy springy grass. squishy clay mud between your toes, and you laughed. wee violets and buttercups so pretty. we half expected to meet the dryads of the woods. why did we go so far in? happy hearts caught in a halcyon time. afternoon shadows are getting long, and we move to go back, but take a wrong turn. the sun’s at our back. yeah, it’s wrong. at each other we look, then quickly behind. in the greying gloom our recent walk, foot prints and all, seems to have been sucked away, vanishing like Alice’s confusing path. new trees, as close together as a bamboo forest, crowd each other in a riot of obstruction. there is no going, except forward. this very bad thing has us confused and frightened, and we hug tightly. nothing for it but to go on, although there’s a foul smell, the keening of bugs, and sounds of heavy splashing. you put on your shoes, and we hurry ahead with far fetched optimism that we’re nearing an outlet. as we go, there’s a chuck-chuck-chuck tat-tat-tat as trees sprout behind in terrible time lapse, like arrows flung from a thousand bows. we run. the smell of rot in front. our path behind is blotted in a zipper of foliage. and now, we are here: the vestiges of sun show us a lime green cesspool of swamp, lapping against intruding bush on all sides. On the opposite shore is a (fake?) hallway through the trees, a hint of daylight at its end. things flip and slap on the pond’s surface, disturbing the pale lilies. you, the brave one, walk into the warm steaming water, telling me to come…it’s not deep. and we go. halfway now, the silty bottom sucking at our shoes. slithery things caress our ankles and knees. tiny teeth seem to test us. only waist deep, we pause, hanging onto the roots of a fallen tree. and then, you’re down. gone. so fast. i yell and scream, grabbing green slime, and i’ve got your hair, then your armpits. leveraging against the roots, i hoist you up, parting your seaweed coiffure. you vomit a chunk of green mucus onto me, and then i see your face. you are not you. you are my dead school teacher. i let go in terror, and you sink like a stone. i hear insane laughter from the far shore, and there you are waving, silhouetted in the dying day. you turn and take the appointed path. new growth closes behind you. dark has come.

momma, momma, momma.