White Canary

One

In a small town, beneath the light of the setting sun, there is a lonesome strip mall that sits at the crossroads of Ocean Avenue and River Drive. Over the course of time, the shopping center has seen may shops be set up on its grounds, all of them, with the intention of providing a new take on life for the aspiring entrepreneur. The once thriving mini mall has seen its foot traffic die down and with it the paying customers forcing some owners to close their doors for good. Out of the five open spaces only one has been rented out recently.

Nested in between four unlit vacant store fronts, a new photography studio has found this center to be its home. Conceived only a mere months ago, its light shines brightly out towards the darkening sky and it brings new life to the desolate strip mall. Looking in at the studio from the sidewalk of River Drive, birds can be seen moving in their cages as a person behind a counter tends to them. From the sidewalk, it can be seen that there are two cars in the parking lot; one is empty, just like the stores next to the studio, and the other has been running idle under the branches of an old tree.

Inside the studio the chirping of canaries can be heard as they bounce around their cages living a life of simple routine. In the lobby of the lonely studio there is a young woman sitting in a chair lined against the storefront window gawking at the canaries. She is mesmerized by the colors of them and is amazed by how many different colors they come from: yellow, brown, red, orange and even white. The young women with Crimson red hair gets up from her chair and walks up towards the counter.

"Did you know ..." She says; as she approaches the counter of the photography studio"...that miners took canaries into mines with them ..." she continues; while tucking her Crimson hair behind her ear "...so that they can signal the miners that carbon monoxide is present?" Arriving at the counter, Crimson lean a tad bit forward on it to get a closer look at the canaries in their cages.

"How would they signal the miners?" The unenthused man behind the replies as he steps away from the counter to tend to one of his ill canaries. He can't help his reaction or the sarcastic tone in his voice, as The Photographer and owner of the studio, he has heard this tale countless times before, his ability to pretend to care waned. Giving Crimson his back as he places the orange canary back in its cage he awaited for the answer he knows to come out of her lips.

"With their death!" Her oddly enthusiastic delivery, of the canaries grim fate, was drowned out by the bells that were on the door facing River Drive ringing as it opened up. That's when the bells rang as the door opened to his studio. The subsequent signing from the canaries that followed the sound of the doorbells is why The Photographers kept canaries. He enjoyed their singing.

A Customer? The photographer thinks as he glances at the clock hanging above the door out the River Drive..

"Excuse me for a second" he says, as he politely raises his index finger towards Crimson, secretly hoping that she would get the hint and go home.

The customer, sizing up Crimson as she approaches the counter, immediately began asking the photographer a question "Do you have availability right now in your schedule for an impromptu photoshoot?" With each long stride she takes towards the counter, her long legs flash for only an instance as they retreat behind the curtain of the beige Trench coat.

Trench is an absolutely beautiful woman. Long light wavy brown hair that cascades down her head perfectly framing her face, arched eyebrows resting above iridescent blue eyes which lay hidden underneath long mysterious eyelashes. As she draws closer to the counter her height becomes apparent, towering over Crimson she is probably 5'11 or 6 feet tall. The photographer, in his early 40s, is awestruck.

"Well ... " Trench asked as she turned her unappeased gaze away from Crimson. Trench knows she commands attention.

"Hi. Sorry. Yes. Yes I do" he responds all flustered.

"Great, are you comfortable working with couples in shoots" Trench asks.

"What type of a shoot are you planning?" he inquires, calmly collecting himself. The Photographer, having had just opened his studio, always accepted all request as they helped to keep the lights on.

"An intimide one, with boyfriend and I" she says as she opens her trench coat.

Warm blood rushes throughout The Photographers entire body causing him to steam up his glasses. "Yes I have a private studio for shoots like those" the photographer affirms.

"Perfect. I'll go get my boyfriend from the car"

Of course she has a boyfriend! He thinks "I'll start setting up the lighting in the studio. When you return, please use the door behind the counter access the private studio" He says to her.

"Will do" She responds with a bright smile. In a swift pivot her hair is whipped around and releases the a smell of perfume into the air.

Crimson, finally getting the hint, collects her stuff and begins to head home when she hears clear plump in the now quiet lobby. Looking back from the exit door she says

"Aw. You poor thing" and walks out into the night.

In one of the cages behind the counter was a single canary, with its back on the ground and legs in the air.