The crimson hues of the photo drew me in immediately; like an art critic staring at the walls of a new exhibit, I knew artistry and I wanted to know more. I studied the framing of the photo, thought about who took it, where they might be now, who the person in the photo was and how I could meet them. Even though they were dead.

Even through the screen I felt their being, their soul. I felt their fear, before they died, the sorrow during, and the content nature of after death in their facial features. I thought about what would happen if the picture was taken down and I would never be able to see it again. It shocked me, but I felt saddened by that …

I read through some of the comments. The poster of the photo was anonymous, but the commenters on the thread had identified the setting of the photo as Virginia, from the outside rolling hills and barely-visible landmark in the back. Whoever this person was had died there, and whoever had taken the picture was there, too. I wanted to be their next subject, the next target of their artistry.

I grabbed my car keys and began to drive.