Cleo Valentine (Apt. 2B)

My mind spun as I stared at the crime scene that slowly began to reveal more and more of itself to me. The police moved busily around me as I tried to slow the space down in my mind. I took pictures of every detail my eyes raked over, from the dirt found on the bottom of Mr. Evans’ shoes, to his nails, to the general position he rested in. I glanced up at the Police Chief who eagerly observed my process, hoping for me to uncover a new detail as much as I did. I needed to speak with him to figure out which initial details I may have missed, but I had a problem. I have a hard time interacting with people the way most people do. I get overwhelmed when I am surrounded by too many people, or when too many new people decide to introduce themselves to me that day. I try to learn the story and take the picture of one new person as a daily social challenge, but I would rather keep to myself. I prefer puzzles to people. Take Mr. Evans’ death for example. I liked the man ...

The day started as it always does. The abandoned warehouse, wooded area at the edge of town, or the graffiti filled parking deck usually lie prey to my wondering eyes each morning. Today, I joined the rowdy skateboarders and their boombox, cloud of cigarette smoke, and playful air. I wasn’t friends with any of them, I wasn’t really friends with anyone at all, but they were used to my watch ful eye. The intricate web of graffiti loomed overhead and all around me, drawing out my creative eye. My camera guided me in my understanding of the world and of people. I was working on a project. Each morning, I met someone new, listened to them speak about their lives and took pictures of them. I don’t know what it’s for, but I love observing people, noticing the details others don’t, and solving the puzzles others can’t. I dug around my pockets for a couple sticks of gum, throwing it in my mouth and popping bubbles at the crack of each skateboard reverberating off the walls o...