He breathed for a trademark savvy, the endowment to etch a moment in time in pixels.

    A flash. A snap.

    And that moment, the moment that would only ever happen once, was his. And it was his for all eternity. He defied mortality with just a simple machine. The curse that all time shall perish in a blink of an eye, a flash of lightening. But he was the exception. On that screen, the moment that was supposed to flicker out like a candle without oxygen, was able to live on.
     He cared not for the money. No sharp words were conceived on his tongue when his boss came up a few dollars short at the end of the month. It was never about the money, no, the money was never the drive. Although he lived a comfortable middle class life, he never heeded the legal tender. The drive was the art. His art. And whether or not anyone saw the photographs, mattered even less than the money. The young man was not in any way ungrateful. Every time the sun kissed the trees, he thanked whatever deity, or lack thereof, that allowed him to fulfill this passion with unfaltering virtue.
    Today our young man felt sand between his toes, and the South Carolina air rush over his skin. The salty waves rolled lazily over the banks under the setting sun. A pearly moon peaked up shyly from the grass laden dunes that characterized the land. A maroon lanyard tethered the man's camera to his neck. Holding the camera up rather timidly with his finger tips, the man's somber gaze swept over the land. A delicate smile engraved on his face when he found his moment. He stumbled rather ungainly across the sand toward the careless surf. In the wakes, a little girl frisked along side a rather large dog. Its collar held pendants that chinked and twinkled with the creature's movements. The dog followed the girl a few meters, then rushed ahead in a burst of energy into a wave, snapping at the water gleefully, and would return to the girl to urge her on along the beach. She giggled at the dog's antics. Sun kissed freckles dusted her pale cheeks when she smiled. The girl could not have been older than eleven.
    The young man shivered as salty, clean water rushed over his feet up to his ankles. It receded back into the ocean, beckoning him to join it. The little girl caught his eye and adopted a wary posture, curly auburn locks rippling at the waft of sea air. He waved her over, that shy smile still on his lips. The girl, curiosity getting the better of her, waded into earshot, but refused to leave the safety of the water. She reflected a similar shy smile. She leaned over a bit toward him as he called out to her, jumping a bit when a frothy wave swiped at her calves. The man gestured to her dog, and her eyes followed it. Blue eyes fell back on him, as her smile widened, and she nodded. She called a name, caught and distorted by the rushing wind. The dog stopped and c***ed its wolfish head to the side. It bared its teeth in a grimace similar to a laughing grin. Tongue lolling, the beast bounded through the billows of water toward the girl.
    Once the girl retrieved a water worn stick from the blue, the man crouched in the sand a few meters down the shore line. He nodded to the small child, who in turn, nodded back. She hurdled the stick an impressive distance. The dog, catching sight of the projectile, tore off after it, determined to catch the prize. Its charcoal coat plastered to its body, the dog lifted its head, its smile like grimace returning. Our young man hit the capture.

    A snap. A flash.

    The device vibrated as it etched the moment onto a photo, spitting it into the man's hand. He shook it as the colors faded into view. The dog, in all its wolf-like glory: its rippling muscles, cherry tongue lolling, white fangs bared in a joyful smile, smokey fur reflecting the dying sunlight, and the moon casting its introverted glow into the creatures eyes. When the colors revealed themselves fully, the man walked back to the water, and extended his hand that held his art. The girl sauntered through the wake again and gently took the photo, careful not to get it wet. She studied it, a wistful smile never left her lips. Looking back up to the man, she attempted to hand the photo back. Our young man shook his head slightly, thanked the girl, and began to pad back to the sand dunes.
    His boss was short five dollars by the end of that month. The man pretended not to notice. Because he knew, that the girl he met with the dog, just may have pinned the photo to her wall, pasted it in a scrap book, or sent it to a relative. And long after her furry companion left to join the clouds, she could remember it, the wolfish dog in all its glory. Happy, healthy, and truly content.
    But our little girl did not pin it to her wall. She did not paste it in a scrap book. She did not even send it to relative. She did, however, place it on her desk. And her desk just happened to be placed strategically next to her easel. The little girl began to mix various hues of blue, silver, and charcoal. She breathed for a trademark savvy, the endowment to etch a moment in time in paint...