((Helena Christensen continued from The Life and Death of Helena Christensen, as Told in Eight Slices of Pie: Pt. 2))
As she ate the seventh slice of pie, Helena Christensen thought about what actually made her happy.
She was woken up by the morning announcement, much to her annoyance. She didn't really have any reactions to anyone who died this time. She wasn't that close to anyone at school, and even if she recognized a name or two, it didn't mean much to her. She survived a day of The Program, all because she sealed herself in a house and ate a pastry. She couldn't be too proud of it, but it at least showed she had better luck than some people. But Helena stopped considering herself a lucky person years ago. She knew where she stood in the universal sense, and being sent here was proof things weren't going to go in her favor for long.
But it was time for more pie, and Helena finally felt ready to go. It wasn't like she needed much to prepare for this. Eating six pieces of pie over 24 hours didn't exactly read like much of a challenge, and she didn't feel proud for it. She got a good look at herself in a mirror before she went downstairs. Her braids were messed up, her eyes had bags under them, and her clothing was all wrinkled and sweaty. She didn't care that much, not like she ever did, but all she saw was someone who pretty much gave up, and she was okay with that.
She sat at the table and started on the next piece. After her incident with Melissa, she wasn't sure what to do with herself next. That was when she had to clean out the space under her bed and found something she had entirely forgotten about. In a box was a small digital camera. It was the camera her father gave her before he died. She was supposed to use it to take pictures of home to let her dad know they were happy and that Denver was better than wherever he was sent. Not that it mattered now, but Helena forgot she had the camera. It wasn't the most up-to-date camera, but it still worked.
Helena found herself taking pictures of whatever she could. She didn't really pay much attention to whether it was good or not, whether it was in focus, or if her finger was in the shot or not. She spent some time just taking pictures, hoping that there'd be something inspiring or fun to come out of it.
It took a few months, but she finally found something. Helena was at the local park, taking pictures of flowers and bark and anything else she could get away with when she noticed a woman pushing a stroller down a path. Helena was far enough away that she could zoom in and not be noticed taking the picture. She was about to take a picture of both the woman and the stroller, but stopped when the woman stopped. It looked like the woman was looking into the stroller to comfort the crying baby. Helena held the camera and watched, and it was when the woman snapped her head up that she took the picture.
The woman was average looking. She could have been pretty if she didn't look so tired or put more effort into her appearance. With her limp ponytail, unwashed face, and wrinkled exercise clothes, Helena suddenly found a beauty in the woman's expression. The woman looked tired, but accepting of what she was doing. She seemed to be looking off, hoping someone could come by and help her with the baby. It was weird, but Helena suddenly found her to be really pretty.
After that, Helena only took pictures of people. She only took candids, some in focus and some out of focus. She tried to ensure no one ever saw her with the camera. If people wouldn't show her their exact feelings, she'd try to capture them when they weren't trying to show anything. A man reading a newspaper at a bus stop, a little girl hanging onto a lamppost with one hand, an old woman staring at a window display, and a teenage boy staring at his phone were some of the subjects she took.
When she started high school, Helena joined photography club at school, hoping to learn more. She learned new techniques and styles, how to use better cameras and equipment, and even was encouraged to submit for contests. She placed at some contests, did well in some more than others, but suddenly she felt like she had something to do. She could capture so much and try to understand it, and she figured she could share that with others.
Helena sat her fork down as she finished the piece of pie. She then glanced over at the tin, with the sliver of the apple pie left. One more piece of pie, and she was officially unarmed. What was she capturing right now? Had her gluttony produced anything worthwhile. She had barely said anything aloud since she woke up, so she had to wonder if her mother and sister saw anything in the footage they were watching. Could they pick up on any subtleties as she gorged herself on pie?
She wasn't sure, but Helena knew this was her chance to convey something to them and to all of America. With that in mind, she picked up the last piece of the pie. It was time to finish this.
The Life and Death of Helena Christensen, as Told in Eight Slices of Pie: Pt. 3
Finishing the pie, Phase 3
As she ate the last piece of pie, Helena Christensen thought about the night before she was selected.
She was at home, setting up her camera to take a portrait of Melissa. She had a photography contest coming up, and she asked Melissa to be a model. Melissa was a little surprised to be chosen as a model, but agreed to it almost instantly. Helena wondered if Melissa was just excited for the chance to help her sister with a project, but she figured Melissa was just trying to be a good sister. Melissa was a little more self conscious about her appearance after her accident, but she had rolled with it. She said her scars gave her character and showed she was a survivor who did what she though was right for her family. Even though she wanted to, Helena wasn't going to argue that with her.
In fact, it was because of the scars that Helena chose Melissa as her model. The set up was quite simple. Helena had placed Melissa in an old leather chair kept in the corner of their living room. There was a small table next to the chair and a framed painting of a blackbird on the wall near it. On the table were some bottles of pain killers, Melissa's inhaler, and some of the documents Melissa got in the mail from the government whenever she got her benefits. Melissa was seated in the chair, wearing a knee length black dress that reveled all the scars on her legs from her various surgeries. Her hair was tied up in a bun on top of her head, revealing the scar on the side of her head. Melissa, at her own suggestion, had removed her glass eye and set it on the table.
Helena's idea was to have Melissa pose like a nobleman or royal figure from old oil paintings, but show all the damage her body had taken over the years. Melissa had her old cane with her and was grasping it in her hand. She looked pretty elegant, even if she had only one eye and all these scars.
Helena began to take the pictures. She gave suggestions for Melissa, and Melissa complied. Helena was surprised at how easily Melissa took instructions and gave her exactly what she was looking for.
"Okay, great," Helena told Melissa after a few photos. "We can take a break."
"Great," Melissa said, laying the cane against the table and standing up. "Can I see what you've taken so far?"
"Yeah, come on over."
Melissa walked over and looked at the screen as Helena flipped through the camera's memory. Melissa nodded along.
"Hey, Hel, is this too political?" Melissa asked.
"Why do you think that?"
"I mean, I know it's for the best photo possible, but do you think people might read into it as criticism?"
"I wasn't aiming for criticism. I mean, you are looking proud and resilient in the pictures."
"Yeah, but maybe I should keep the eye in," Melissa added. "It might be too grotesque."
"You're not grotesque. Besides, if I'm asked, I can just say you're brave and my hero. Why don't we take pictures of you with the eye in, just in case?"
"Alright," Melissa said. "We can start again."
Melissa walked back and put her glass eye in as Helena prepared to take more photos. Helena began to snap the photos once Melissa was back in her seat. Melissa spoke.
"Helena, please don't do anything too risky," Melissa said.
"What do you mean?"
"I know this is your art, and I know your intentions are good. But please be careful. I honestly spent a lot of time in that veteran's hospital watching what I said in case someone thought I was speaking out against America. I don't want you to get hurt because someone took your art the wrong way."
"Mel, thank you," Helena said, "but I know what I'm doing. You look beautiful, even if you're damaged, and I think that's what people will get across."
"Alright," Melissa said. "Just don't do anything that will make mom too sad."
"I won't," Helena said. "I'll never do anything like that stupid joke ever again."
Helena stopped eating the pie. She had almost finished the piece, when she felt her jaw hang open a bit. That picture would never be seen by anyone. Helena was supposed to work on the portraits when she got home on Announcement Day and find the best one to submit. And now it didn't matter. Her art would never be seen by anyone. Melissa could keep it secret or keep it for her private collection. But she couldn't actually pay for her actions. She couldn't make amends or do anything to show she was a good patriot.
But why even be a good patriot now. The U.S. military drove her father to suicide, sent her sister somewhere to be maimed, caused her mother to become a shell of her former self, and now sent Helena to be murdered in Mexico.
Helena set the fork down. After a few minutes of silence, she grabbed the remaining bit of pie and shoved it into her mouth. She forced it down and tried to swallow it, despite how dry and coarse it was. After she swallowed, she grabbed the plate she had been eating off over the last two days and chucked it against the wall. She watched it shatter against the wall. She then grabbed the edge of the table and flipped it onto its side, sending the empty pie tin and box to the floor. She walked over to the box, looking at the stupid Miss Liberty's Homemade Pies logo and stomped all over it. She stomped repeatedly on the cartoon baker girl on the cover until she felt tired of stomping. Then, she made her move.
She quickly searched through the house and found what she was looking for. She grabbed a belt from one of the bedroom dressers and a chair and went into a room in the middle of the second floor. She looked over the room carefully. There weren't any windows. There was no way anyone would see her from outside, which probably made things worse for the government. That meant she had all the time she needed.
Helena blockaded the door with some of the furniture in the room, moving a child-sized bed and dresser to block the door. She then took the belt and made sure it fit around her neck before tying it around the light fixture hanging from the ceiling. After placing the chair beneath it, she removed her shoes and set them next to the chair. She sat in the chair and removed both of her socks. She put one with the shoes, and then balled the second one up. She set it down, and then removed her hoodie.
She held the hoodie in her hands and stared at the one camera in the room.
"I want you to pay attention to me, because I'm about to die," Helena said to the camera.
"I have no future here. My life ended when I was picked. There's no future for any of us. All that there is is grief. My mom and sister will grieve my death, lament my lost potential, and rage against the fact that they lost another member of their family to the war machine. But I don't want them to be sad. I'm making this choice because it's one of the few that I can have. I know they never wanted to see me make this choice, but I want to make it while I'm still me. While I'm still Helena Christensen."
"Melissa, I'm sorry, but I gotta be political. Mom, I'm sorry for causing you such pain. But this is me and my art. And this is my one chance to show who I am without any censorship."
Helena chuckled.
"Well, at the very least, censorship that's not on my part. I won't force you two to see the end. I'll spare you one image of suicide since you had to see the previous one."
Helena threw the hoodie onto the camera. It hung on the camera perfectly. The image had gone dark.
"Mom, Melissa, thanks for everything. You can stop watching now. Goodbye, and I'll see you someday."
Helena walked to the chair and grabbed the sock.
"Oh, and Miss Liberty's pies are total shit. America can't take over the world or find a good apple pie, so what does that tell you?"
Helena knew she probably only had a few moments left with all the anti-American sentiment, so she acted quickly. She stuffed the sock in her mouth and climbed onto the chair, putting her neck through the belt. Her mother and sister weren't going to see her die, and she could at least try to ensure they didn't hear it.
Helena closed her eyes, breathed in, out, and then kicked the chair out.
A few moments later, and Helena Christensen had finally captured the moment and expression she wanted, and more importantly, it was hers alone.
F07: Helena Christensen: Deceased
She was at home, setting up her camera to take a portrait of Melissa. She had a photography contest coming up, and she asked Melissa to be a model. Melissa was a little surprised to be chosen as a model, but agreed to it almost instantly. Helena wondered if Melissa was just excited for the chance to help her sister with a project, but she figured Melissa was just trying to be a good sister. Melissa was a little more self conscious about her appearance after her accident, but she had rolled with it. She said her scars gave her character and showed she was a survivor who did what she though was right for her family. Even though she wanted to, Helena wasn't going to argue that with her.
In fact, it was because of the scars that Helena chose Melissa as her model. The set up was quite simple. Helena had placed Melissa in an old leather chair kept in the corner of their living room. There was a small table next to the chair and a framed painting of a blackbird on the wall near it. On the table were some bottles of pain killers, Melissa's inhaler, and some of the documents Melissa got in the mail from the government whenever she got her benefits. Melissa was seated in the chair, wearing a knee length black dress that reveled all the scars on her legs from her various surgeries. Her hair was tied up in a bun on top of her head, revealing the scar on the side of her head. Melissa, at her own suggestion, had removed her glass eye and set it on the table.
Helena's idea was to have Melissa pose like a nobleman or royal figure from old oil paintings, but show all the damage her body had taken over the years. Melissa had her old cane with her and was grasping it in her hand. She looked pretty elegant, even if she had only one eye and all these scars.
Helena began to take the pictures. She gave suggestions for Melissa, and Melissa complied. Helena was surprised at how easily Melissa took instructions and gave her exactly what she was looking for.
"Okay, great," Helena told Melissa after a few photos. "We can take a break."
"Great," Melissa said, laying the cane against the table and standing up. "Can I see what you've taken so far?"
"Yeah, come on over."
Melissa walked over and looked at the screen as Helena flipped through the camera's memory. Melissa nodded along.
"Hey, Hel, is this too political?" Melissa asked.
"Why do you think that?"
"I mean, I know it's for the best photo possible, but do you think people might read into it as criticism?"
"I wasn't aiming for criticism. I mean, you are looking proud and resilient in the pictures."
"Yeah, but maybe I should keep the eye in," Melissa added. "It might be too grotesque."
"You're not grotesque. Besides, if I'm asked, I can just say you're brave and my hero. Why don't we take pictures of you with the eye in, just in case?"
"Alright," Melissa said. "We can start again."
Melissa walked back and put her glass eye in as Helena prepared to take more photos. Helena began to snap the photos once Melissa was back in her seat. Melissa spoke.
"Helena, please don't do anything too risky," Melissa said.
"What do you mean?"
"I know this is your art, and I know your intentions are good. But please be careful. I honestly spent a lot of time in that veteran's hospital watching what I said in case someone thought I was speaking out against America. I don't want you to get hurt because someone took your art the wrong way."
"Mel, thank you," Helena said, "but I know what I'm doing. You look beautiful, even if you're damaged, and I think that's what people will get across."
"Alright," Melissa said. "Just don't do anything that will make mom too sad."
"I won't," Helena said. "I'll never do anything like that stupid joke ever again."
Helena stopped eating the pie. She had almost finished the piece, when she felt her jaw hang open a bit. That picture would never be seen by anyone. Helena was supposed to work on the portraits when she got home on Announcement Day and find the best one to submit. And now it didn't matter. Her art would never be seen by anyone. Melissa could keep it secret or keep it for her private collection. But she couldn't actually pay for her actions. She couldn't make amends or do anything to show she was a good patriot.
But why even be a good patriot now. The U.S. military drove her father to suicide, sent her sister somewhere to be maimed, caused her mother to become a shell of her former self, and now sent Helena to be murdered in Mexico.
Helena set the fork down. After a few minutes of silence, she grabbed the remaining bit of pie and shoved it into her mouth. She forced it down and tried to swallow it, despite how dry and coarse it was. After she swallowed, she grabbed the plate she had been eating off over the last two days and chucked it against the wall. She watched it shatter against the wall. She then grabbed the edge of the table and flipped it onto its side, sending the empty pie tin and box to the floor. She walked over to the box, looking at the stupid Miss Liberty's Homemade Pies logo and stomped all over it. She stomped repeatedly on the cartoon baker girl on the cover until she felt tired of stomping. Then, she made her move.
She quickly searched through the house and found what she was looking for. She grabbed a belt from one of the bedroom dressers and a chair and went into a room in the middle of the second floor. She looked over the room carefully. There weren't any windows. There was no way anyone would see her from outside, which probably made things worse for the government. That meant she had all the time she needed.
Helena blockaded the door with some of the furniture in the room, moving a child-sized bed and dresser to block the door. She then took the belt and made sure it fit around her neck before tying it around the light fixture hanging from the ceiling. After placing the chair beneath it, she removed her shoes and set them next to the chair. She sat in the chair and removed both of her socks. She put one with the shoes, and then balled the second one up. She set it down, and then removed her hoodie.
She held the hoodie in her hands and stared at the one camera in the room.
"I want you to pay attention to me, because I'm about to die," Helena said to the camera.
"I have no future here. My life ended when I was picked. There's no future for any of us. All that there is is grief. My mom and sister will grieve my death, lament my lost potential, and rage against the fact that they lost another member of their family to the war machine. But I don't want them to be sad. I'm making this choice because it's one of the few that I can have. I know they never wanted to see me make this choice, but I want to make it while I'm still me. While I'm still Helena Christensen."
"Melissa, I'm sorry, but I gotta be political. Mom, I'm sorry for causing you such pain. But this is me and my art. And this is my one chance to show who I am without any censorship."
Helena chuckled.
"Well, at the very least, censorship that's not on my part. I won't force you two to see the end. I'll spare you one image of suicide since you had to see the previous one."
Helena threw the hoodie onto the camera. It hung on the camera perfectly. The image had gone dark.
"Mom, Melissa, thanks for everything. You can stop watching now. Goodbye, and I'll see you someday."
Helena walked to the chair and grabbed the sock.
"Oh, and Miss Liberty's pies are total shit. America can't take over the world or find a good apple pie, so what does that tell you?"
Helena knew she probably only had a few moments left with all the anti-American sentiment, so she acted quickly. She stuffed the sock in her mouth and climbed onto the chair, putting her neck through the belt. Her mother and sister weren't going to see her die, and she could at least try to ensure they didn't hear it.
Helena closed her eyes, breathed in, out, and then kicked the chair out.
A few moments later, and Helena Christensen had finally captured the moment and expression she wanted, and more importantly, it was hers alone.
F07: Helena Christensen: Deceased
G014: Mayumi Tendou