Day 33 – Hour 012 "Through Glass, Sharpened"
Marco didn't wait.
He locked the shutter door behind us with a rusted chain and walked to the back without a word. I followed — quiet, steady.
The space that once looked like a workshop now felt like something else. Half shrine, half machine. Cameras, parts, stacks of film, light meters, lenses spread out like a mechanic's altar. Not a mess. Just a system I didn't yet understand.
Marco picked up a roll of black electrical tape and began wrapping the edges of the old film camera he'd shown me earlier. "First rule," he said, not looking up, "you don't get to shoot until I say you're ready."
I nodded.
He flicked the tape toward me. I caught it on reflex.
"Second rule. If you're holding a camera, you're hunting. Don't point it at anything you don't mean to catch."
Still no glance. He trusted me to listen, not to respond.
"And third—" he turned, finally locking eyes with me. "You will pay for every roll you ruin."
That was Marco.
Efficient. Unforgiving. Not cruel, but precise.
I stood there, feeling the weight of the camera again. It was heavier now, even though nothing had changed. Maybe that's what discipline feels like. Gravity, sharpened.
The first hour was just movement.
He made me clean lenses. Dust the light bulbs overhead. Coil wires. Scrub down the table. No explanations.
When I reached for a rag that looked slightly cleaner, he grunted.
"Use that one."
I used that one.
Once the place was reset, he handed me the camera and pointed to a wooden chair in the corner, empty and lit by a sliver of light.
"Frame it."
I brought the camera up, lined up the shot.
Marco walked behind me, watching.
He didn't speak for thirty seconds.
Then: "Wrong."
I adjusted the angle. The light. The focus.
Still: "Wrong."
This continued for seven frames. Then eight. Then ten.
I didn't get defensive. Just absorbed.
"You're too focused on symmetry," he muttered. "You want the chair to look nice. That's not your job. Your job is to see what's there, not what's acceptable."
He paused, leaned forward slightly.
"Every subject has something it doesn't want you to find. That's what you're after."
I kept that line in my mind. Not just for the camera. For everything.
By the time the lesson ended, I'd taken sixteen shots and only developed two.
Both were trash.
"You'll come back tomorrow," Marco said as he cleaned the lens. "At six. Not six-ten. Not 'almost.' Six."
Then he held out a small paper bag.
I looked inside. Film rolls.
"$8."
I blinked. "For—?"
"Three rolls. You'll need them. And I'm not running a charity."
The pouch under my shirt felt hot.
I pulled out a five and three singles, counted slowly. "I'll get the rest later."
Marco didn't flinch. "You'll get it tomorrow."
As I left, the weight of the camera stayed with me — even after I handed it back.
I passed the fig tree again. This time, I noticed the yarn had changed color. Someone had replaced it, or added to it.
It wasn't important.
But I remembered it anyway.
Back at home, I set the bag of film rolls on the counter and leaned against the fridge. It hummed softly, trying its best to be useful despite its age.
The Club had said nothing since they'd sent me to Marco.
No updates. No scores. No threats.
Which meant the test had already begun.
The strange thing?
I wasn't tired.
Usually, after absorbing something new, my brain wanted out. A nap. A distraction. Something soft.
Not now.
Now I felt like I'd just started breathing properly.
I opened the envelope where I kept my savings — the rest of the bills from the Club, untouched since the phone purchase.
Marco had asked for eighteen. He hadn't asked what I had, or what I could spare. He simply charged me — correctly, efficiently — as if he already knew how much I was allowed to lose.
Rent was still covered. Food, for now. But it was close. Any indulgence, and I'd tip the balance.
The Club had sent me to him not to learn photography — but to be broken by it, and reassembled.
Marco wasn't just training my eye.
He was measuring what I could endure.
Tomorrow, I'd show up again. At six. With the rest of the cash.
And maybe, if I was lucky, I'd be allowed to shoot something that mattered.
If not — I'd shoot anyway.
Because that's what I do now.
I observe.
And I capture.
And I wait.