Some stories begin with a “what if.” For Unframed, it was this: What if a camera could show you the life you haven’t lived yet?
This isn’t a classic time-travel or do-over tale. There’s no return to the past, no chance to fix old mistakes. Instead, the Leica in Unframed is a mysterious observer that reveals fragments of a possible future, intimate moments with a woman Alex hasn’t yet met. A poet. A stranger. A life that could be.
At its core, the story is about choice. When we’re handed a vision of what might be, how do we respond? Do we chase the perfect image, or embrace the messy, uncertain present? For Alex, the question isn’t just about art or fate—it’s about love, identity, and the difference between capturing a moment and living it.
The writing process mirrored the story’s evolution. The first draft sprawled past 4,000 words, a moody exploration of character, mystery, and the pull of the unknown. The second ballooned to over 6,500 as I tried to chase every thread—Alex’s backstory, Maya’s secrets, the Leica’s eerie provenance. But ultimately, I realized the heart of the story wasn’t in its subplots. It was in the tension between the image and the moment. The prophecy and the present.
So I stripped it back. The final version is a lean 1,700 words, pared to its emotional and thematic core: a man, a camera, a woman, and a choice. No filler. Just the hush of a shutter and the whisper of life's choices, unframed.
I hope you enjoy.
Eric