When Daniel’s mum wakes him at five-thirty in the morning, he knows it’s so she can go and take photographs. It doesn’t seem to matter how many times he points out that most photographers take their early morning shots in perfect safety, his mum just can’t feel safe—so Daniel goes with her, even when its early and cold and the mist hasn’t cleared. Especially when the mist hasn’t cleared. Muggers, Daniel can handle, but what on Earth is he going to do about trolls?
Troll-Mist Morning is about family, and caring for even the crazy members. It’s about a young person who looks after his mum, even when he doesn’t see the same kind of dangers.
First Chapters: Troll Mist Morning
My mum does crazy things like waking me at five-thirty in the morning and saying, “Hey Daniel, can you come for a walk with me?”
So, I roll over and look up at her, blinking my eyes against the light and pulling the quilt up to my chin, and I say, “Why?”
She says “I’d like to photograph that church in the mist.”
“Which church?” I ask.
“You know, that one on the corner. The white one with all the curves and that tower thing.”
Yeah, real good words, mum. But I know why she’s asking me to come with her. She’s not as happy-go-lucky as a lot of other photographers. She knows about the monsters that live in the real world.
There are days when she wishes she could be like the other guys in her class—the ones who go down by the lake on their own at weird hours of the day, or the ones that take their expensive cameras into the rougher parts of town to take pictures of graffiti. Poor mum.
She’s a bit scared of being out alone with her camera. She says when she’s behind the camera, she can’t see what might be sneaking up behind her. I don’t tell her that plenty of other photographers take photos in the early morning without getting mugged. She’d just point out the few who have been mugged, and tell me that’s what they said before they got the snot beaten out of them.
She’d say the others have just been lucky.
What can I say? She’s my mum. I’ve seen her when she’s behind a camera. Lost isn’t the word. It’s like she’s in another world. Forget muggers and murderers. Mum’s more likely as to step out in front of a car, or fall down a hole. When she takes pictures, all that she sees is the picture. Someone has to take care of her.So, what do I say when she asks me to go for a twenty-minute walk at five-thirty in the morning? I always say “Yes”, and then I roll out of bed and get dressed, and do my best not to mind.
END FIRST CHAPTER
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