Camera Lens

The bowl of cereal is cold in my hands, like a block of ice made of milk and sugar.  My dog slippers creak against the wood.  I place my bowl on the wood table, and plop onto the couch.  The sound echos and I jolt up, but it seems no one woke up.  I sigh and lean back.  The snores echo, and I turn on the tv, making sure the volume is low.  The first thing I see is the headline: “Breaking News: 2.63M have died from COVID-19”.  I stare at the screen hoping the number will change, but instead it fades away, showing photos of those lost, and I can’t bear to watch.  I change from channel to channel, and the same, depressing news comes up.  I turn the tv off and slouch into the leather couch.  This low, the sun fights me for my vision.  I stand up, about to close the ivory curtains.  But before I do, I notice a girl.  Her black hair is unevenly in pigtails, and her overalls hang from her left shoulder.  She has plastic sandals, and bracelets up to her elbow.  I smile, until I see her face.  She is sad, just bursting into tears, and a middle-age woman comes to comfort her.  A middle-age man in a army uniform comforts her too.  She seems shocked by this and turns to face him.  She jumps into his arms and holds on to him tight, as if he would disappear if she should let go.  Her smile can almost be seen through her mask.  I grin,  and shut the shades closed.

After that morning, I realized something important.  The news is only a camera lens, zooming in on the negative in the world.  But the world isn’t all negative.  The world is so much wider than their camera lens, and it’s filled with both beauty and pain.   But a camera lens won’t allow you to see both.  A window will.  It’s like the quote my teacher used in class: “Life is much more successfully looked at through a single window.”

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