The sky was dappled gray and muddled silver. Clouds gathered in clusters of thick, even brushstrokes. The sun was still visible near the hills to the west, but the mist had nearly covered it. To him the sun appeared to be a dim, glowing orb, and its mystery intrigued him. As the first mosquitoes emerged from the dewy grass, they added to the sun’s darkening cover. They swarmed and bit at his ankles, but he was too enthralled with the sky to notice. Finally, the mist overpowered the sun’s eerie aura, and the orb disappeared before it could dip below the hilly horizon.

The mosquitoes were forming packs now, and he finally decided that it was not wise to brave the swarms. Red, puffy ankles would not be helpful during tomorrow’s hike. Therefore, he began ambling toward his family’s car. His sister was there waiting for him, crossing her arms and pouting a bit. A single lock of pure blonde hair hung over her brow and tickled her nose in the wind. The rest of her wavy hair was swept back in a low, loose ponytail that ended right between her shoulder blades. From his angle, it appeared to dip under the back of her head and disappear inside her neck, only to reappear as the beige stalks of grass surrounding them on all sides. Finally, a powerful gust of wind hit, and the single curl was blown behind her left ear. He stopped in front of her, and she scrutinized his blank expression.

“No sunset,” she said curtly, raising her eyebrows ever so slowly. Her pause was expectant, as if she wanted these two words to have negative physical effects on him. However, his emotions were somewhat calloused from recent events, so he simply smirked and bowed his head as he stepped inside the dirty white station wagon. He heard a sigh behind him, and soon his sister’s light footsteps were following his own.

Inside the car, his feelings were limited further by the atmosphere he found himself in. Sandwiched between his brother and sister in the back seat, he couldn’t help but notice his father’s irritated eyes in the rearview mirror. The thin, cloudy eyes numbed his psyche. Subconsciously, he felt for the swollen bruise on his ribcage and tapped it lightly with his index finger. The shock of pain it produced awakened his mind, and his head was filled with a thousand grim images of fear. Pink ribbons of terror constricted his nerves as anxiety washed over his quivering skull. As if his father could sense his son’s alarm, his eyes narrowed further and creased at the edges. Insults seemed to be spelled out in his father’s deepening wrinkles.

To ease his mind, the boy looked out the window. For one hopeful moment, he thought he caught a glimpse of the orb as it cascaded down a knoll. He yanked his clunky black camera from around his neck and aimed it at the glossy hills with trembling fingertips. Right before he clicked, his brother peered over his shoulder and reached eagerly for the camera. His brother’s fingers wrapped around the lens of the camera and pulled with surprising force. The camera cord, still caught around his wrist, bent his hand backward. The last thing he did before yelping and hitting his head on his brother’s bony shoulder was accidentally take a picture. Click.

Hours later, he would examine the photo, the last Polaroid taken before his brother seized the lens on his beloved camera and crushed it in his grasp. The sky, muted charcoal with flecks of soft cream, glimmered in the open car window. And in front of it, a hand; his hand, reaching out for the fluorescent orb that had long retreated into the abyss.