Monday, July 4, 2005

Cryptic Triptych

Left panel

A remembering and a forgetting; quick like that, a flash, as fast as that line was delivered and read. Slight but sure, beautiful and deceptive, taken down on trumped-up charges. What was that they called her? Le Voleur. The Robber. Just like that, they stripped the details away leaving nothing behind but an ambiguous silhouette. No beauty, no grace, no mischievous smile - only an intimidating, menacing, shadow. But they didn't know her. Not like you did.

Centre panel

A rust coloured swing set in a park, two kids, one smiling, one serious against the backdrop of a too blue sky - the sort of sky only seen in photographs from thirty years ago. Even then, she was different. An unnatural attraction to spy movies and cryptology, coupled with an audacious eagerness to learn, pushed her quickly from one field of interest to another. From espionage to safecracking. From safecracking to burglary. From burglary to robbery. Rinse and repeat. From child to teenager, from teenager to adult, from adult to convict. A life spent in darkness, creeping through the property of others - and your heart.

Right panel

So, you fell in love with her again in a picture. She reached out from that smudgy, black and white, halftone newspaper photo, stealing your affection; quick like that, a flash, as fast as that line was delivered and read. The picture: a thousand tiny dots of ink with space between, missing details - an illusion. When she's done her time, she'll come to collect on promises made before the trial: a meeting at the old country house, an exchange of this for that - anything for a friend.

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