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Mr. Raven

Emery wiped the sweat from his eyes with the back of a dirt-caked hand. It left a streak across his forehead, barely noticeable against his already dusty, sun-kissed skin. He lifted his shovel and struck the ground again.

The days were long, hot, and terribly dusty. It seemed like Emery had been born with a shovel in his hand, beating the cracked, dry ground since his first breath. Honestly, it was close to the truth; Emery’s family had been farmers for generations, and his memories were dominated by long, hot days in the field. Emery shook his head. It was easy to let despondent thoughts take root in a dry and empty pasture.

Though he worked hard, long hours, Emery had little to show for it. If he was born with a shovel in his hands, the ground he worked was born sun-baked and impossible to nourish. It was rocky, hard, and barren. If the story hadn't been repeated over and over again by his grandfather, Emery might wonder why his family carried on here at all. It was truly a miracle they’d even survived this long.

Still, he told himself, complaining’s as good for solutions as spit is for watering crops, as his grandfather would say. Emery looked back at the field behind him, at the long, even rows of dirt he’d tilled and plowed and tended every day since spring. It wasn't much, and it wouldn't produce much—but not much was better than nothing.

Beyond his sad, dry fields, the sun hung low in the afternoon sky. Purple-orange clouds blew lazily across the horizon, amplifying the brilliance of the last beams of daylight. Emery sighed and raked a dirty hand through his dark hair. His stomach rumbled and his arms suddenly felt too heavy to lift again. He gathered his tools and headed toward home.

As Emery approached his house, he noticed something out of place. A shiny, new sedan sat in the driveway, barely touched by the dust of the country. The hairs on the back of Emery’s neck stood up. Most folks who lived nearby were lucky if they had a running vehicle at all, and he wasn't sure there was even a place to buy a brand new one outside of East City, which was off limits to Naturals. Why would someone from the City be here? he wondered. He couldn't imagine anything good could come of it. He pulled in to the drive and jumped out of the truck.

Emery made a beeline for the front door. He was about to rush in when he heard his sister Eveline’s lilting laugh from the backyard. The sound was so discordant with Emery’s tense suspicion that he tripped on the front porch steps and fell with a loud thwap. Eveline’s laughter stopped abruptly. In another moment, her pretty, blonde head popped up over the backyard fence.

“Em? Whatcha’ doin’ on the ground?” she laughed.

In spite of the dread still lingering in the back of his mind, Emery laughed. Eveline had a way of brightening any situation.

“Hey there, Evie. Just tasting the dirt.” He winked as he stood and brushed the dust from his pants and shirt. He nodded to the car in the driveway and lowered his voice. “Who’s here?”

The smile on Eveline’s face grew wider. Her eyes sparkled as she answered, “Oh, Em, it’s amazing! Come and see!”

His sister’s enthusiasm did little to calm the anxiety tightening Emery’s chest. He pulled open the back gate and stepped in to the yard. What he saw was even stranger than he expected. Emery’s other sister, Eleanor, sat perched on the bench of their old, weathered picnic table dishing a bowl of soup from a black kettle. She smiled sweetly as a clean-cut man in a tailored suit snapped a picture of her with an expensive-looking camera. Emory couldn't even begin to imagine what was happening. He wasn't sure if he should rush in and punch the man in the face, or if he should shake his hand.

Luckily, Eleanor intervened before Emery had a chance to choose. “Hey there, Em! Hungry? Come meet Mr. Raven. He’s a photographer!”

Stifling his urge to shout, Emery nodded politely to the stranger. Mr. Raven flashed a gleaming, friendly smile in response. He strutted over to Emery with his hand outstretched as he introduced himself.

“Chase Raven, photographer for the World Review. Nice to meet you, Emery. Your sisters have been telling me all about your family and your farm. Another hot day out there?”

Again, Emery nodded. His mouth felt like it was filled with cement. He wasn't sure what to say—and he still wasn't sure what to think of this well-dressed man with the camera. 

The World Review was a magazine well known for its beautiful photographs and stories of faraway places and unique cultures. Emery had only seen it once as a child when a traveling library had come to his school. There were too few reading devices and too many children, so he’d only glanced at it for a few moments before it was someone else’s turn. Ever since, he had dreamed of owning his own reading device just so he could look through more issues of the magazine. He was intrigued by Mr. Raven, but even more so he was confused: what could the World Review want with pictures of his little sister ladling soup? Something didn’t add up.

Emery’s  suspicious thoughts must have been plain upon his face. Mr. Raven’s countenance changed from friendly to worried in an instant. He put a strong, sure hand on Emery’s shoulder and looked him directly in the eye.

“I can see you’re leery of me and my camera here, Emery. Please, let me calm your fears: I just want to collect some imagery of this countryside and the people who inhabit it, nothing more. You say the word and the photos I’ve taken here at your farm are deleted.”

Something in Mr. Raven’s tone was too sincere for Emery to ignore. A lingering doubt tickled the back of his mind, but Mr. Raven’s direct approach had calmed him some. Besides, it could be interesting to see photographs of his family; technology like cameras was rare in Natural territory. He mulled it over in his mind a few minutes more before finally speaking.

“I guess it’s alright. We’ve got nothing to hide, I suppose. All we have is dirt and each other, as my grandfather used to say.”

Mr. Raven laughed and slapped Emery on the back. “Fair enough, friend. Mind if I get a shot of all three of you? We’re about to lose the light.”

Emery looked to the west at the lingering sunset, still burning purplish-orange on the horizon. He nodded and gestured to his sisters. They both giggled as the rushed to his sides, letting him pull them in to a warm embrace. Mr. Raven raised his camera and pressed a button. The shutter click-click-clicked a few times. He looked at the screen on his camera, then smiled and turned it toward Emery and his sisters.

“I told you they were photogenic. Want to take a look?”

The photograph was beautiful and strange at the same time—everything looked more bright and colorful than it felt in real life. What Emery noticed most of all, though, was that it somehow captured his love for his sisters. Right there in that little digital image, Mr. Raven had managed to frame a perfect moment of joy that he couldn’t put in to words. It was the photograph that solidified Emery’s opinion of Mr. Raven. Someone capable of creating such beauty couldn’t be all bad.

As twilight encroached, Mr. Raven packed up his gear and said his goodbyes. He told them if the photos made it in to the magazine, he’d send a reader with the issue for them to keep. Emery hoped it would come, but didn’t let himself dwell on it. After all, all he had was dirt and his family—it wouldn’t be good to start wishing for too much more.

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