QR Code Murders: Ambivalence

In her mind she was doing the right thing. Pangs of what she was supposed to do entered her soul. She knew she was profiting off pain. Yawquisha knew that with every video, she was closer to seeing a cleaner, safer Wilmington. She peered at her camera. The way that she took advantage of the views hampered her vision of what she needed to do.

With time, she knew she could keep the images and sounds coming. Guilt was too easy. She punished herself for what she didn’t really like to break to herself. Continually, she took her deposits. Each one was a representation of her only skillset. By pushing her own brand of photojournalism, she continued to paint the picture with words and images.

It took her more time to begin again and again. In her spirit she felt that she was on the right side. She wasn’t the murderer. She wasn’t the robber. She just pointed a camera lens at it. The money wasn’t blood money because she knew better. She knew that she could keep her works as something to be promoted and discussed on the market.

In the city, she was not seen because of facial distortion. They didn’t know her voice because of modulation. She knew all of that and was glad about it. When she figured she could better understand herself through her work, she knew that she brought about worse standards upon herself. She beat herself up with bricks in the gloves. She didn’t let herself continue without a few licks of self injury. This was not physical, she knew that would be too simple. Her mind battered her all the way to the price counter. It hit her as she sent in her rent money.

The videos preyed on her ability to bring together a coherent view of herself. Yawquisha wanted to distance herself from her work, she was so close to being a better videographer. She pointed the video at a vehicle with booming bass and tried to steady the camera. She kept it as taut as possible as the microphone picked up each and every note. This was the way she thought. As the car passed by like a blurry butterfly floating over the concrete she knew that there would have to be flash and flair to her documentaries. But substance! There needed to be a better way for the audience to receive the works. People pulled up to their smart tv’s and their mobile phones with popcorn and laughter.

This is exactly what Yawquisha feared. She dreaded the sense that there would be some entertainment element that outweighed the meat on the bone. Who wanted the fat? The salty, gummy seasoned part always seemed to overwhelm.

She brushed over the camera, cleaning it, cleansing her soul. With agile hands and the poise of a ballet dancer, Yawquisha prepared her tool of creation, her tool for the prosecution, her tool for truth. Absent from her ambivalence was her notion of control. She held the property rights to license her work and to control her own story. In essence, she was able to cover more of the cases, interview more people, and make more money.

This made her happy. Not the money but the making of the money. The doing created in her a sense that the impossible looked easy. Her heart fluttered at the sight of six figure deposits in her name. Money was wonderful but it didn’t hit her account for no reason. She posited that there was something about the way she looked through the lens that sparked a flame in her. This supposition led her to actually believe in herself: fully, without contradiction.