A breeze ruffled the scene causing faces of a picture perfect moment shift to surprise as the wind blasted past them. A father held his young daughter in his arms to one side watching her braids fly up into the air. The wife or replacement mother as she was often called by the eldest daughter attempted to keep her sickly narcissistic smile on her face so it clearly said ‘Our Family Is Better Than Yours’. A tall, blond girl stood with her arms crossed amused at the desperate attempt of her ‘family’ to create a moment that lacked any sort of organic joy. Her fifteen year old younger brother stared at his feet with his hands crossed in front of him like he was being laid to rest in some hole in the ground.

With the breeze came the scent of nicotine, a smell one wouldn’t expect to smell in the wild. The father attempted to find the source of the aroma with no prevail when his young wife looked up at a figure that crossed the plain with his camera equipment strapped to his back. It took him less than thirty seconds to set up his expensive Polaroid camera that would have looked outdated with the digital technology.

“Smile.” His voice was monotone and unforgiving.

Everyone smiled except the eldest daughter who wished she could be anywhere, but there. The father rubbed at his back as he placed his young daughter on the ground. That was when the first shot rang. Father’s head looked as if it had been crushed between an invisible vice as the bullet sent his flesh across his picture perfect family. Snap. Replacement mother let out a cry as she ran from her husband’s corpse towards safety forgetting the children behind her. The photographer followed with his camera excited to get an action shot. Anyone who was focused on anything, but collecting life insurance would have noticed the metallic glow from the long grass. Trophy Wife wasn’t nearly observant enough as metal teeth bit into her leg causing her to fall to the ground.

Snap. Replacement Mother’s scream made the eldest daughter smile in the anarchy not quite realizing what was happening. The photographer followed after her desperate to get her attention. Capturing her perfect naïve expressions would be a crown jewel in his collection. The girl ran with her hair flying behind her in rhythmic waves of gold as her adrenaline took over. Soon the trees surrounded her like towering pillars of nature’s beauty that could only be taken down by the strongest of men. Her father had always said that one day she would grow taller than these trees, but she barely stood over six feet nowhere near the height of the ancient timbers. Only the strongest of men could take down tall trees like her and a whirling noise caught her attention as a blunt blade caught her in the back of the neck nearly severing her head. Blood covered the bark of the trees truly showing how they got the name of Redwoods. Snap.

The boy had watched his sister fall to the ground with the axe in her head. He ran knowing his legs and arms were strong. Feet fell behind him as the photographer followed wishing to capture his brashness internalized in ink. The boy had once seen a horse fall into a ditch as its front legs buckled causing sharp white pillars of bones to explode from its legs. He constantly starred at his feet, but the adrenaline drew his eyes away from his shoes. That was a mistake and he tumbled down into a pit where he lay crumbled as dirt caved in around him. Snap.

The little girl had always been told she was picture perfect as she huddled over her father’s body. The photographer was hunter who was intent on capturing her perfection on a piece of film in his Polaroid. It hadn’t dawned on her that her father was dead or the fact that soon she would be immortalized as her body lay next to his. The camera’s focus was on her as she starred at the large lens that looked at her. The device brought her comfort as the man behind her wrapped the long strap around her neck pulling it tight as he focused on her face. He must not bloody perfection. Snap. The photographer threw the photo on top of her corpse.

He turned the camera around as he pointed the revolver at his temple. He squeezed both triggers at the same time watching the film develop as he took his dying breath.