A picture hangs squank up on the wall.
It's contents is of a stereotypical family...
A mother and father, and three children;
All smiling but one, the eldest son stares boredly and sadly into the camera and doesn't lift a lip to the photographer's insistent "Say Cheese"'s.
Maybe he knew, maybe he was old enough to understand what was to come.
The picture changes -
The mother grows old and grey haired, her smile fades like a candle out of wick.
The baby in her arms grows into a young man, with a sorrowful face and darkness in his eyes.
The girl's hair from it's shimmering lightlight turns black and raven-like...her face screws up into a frown.
The son, no longer a boy, but a man, stronger, and even more defiant than before...he stands, arms-crossed, like a protector over his family.
His face still stares boredly into the lens, but, this time he looks at least like he wants to be there, wants to watch over them.
The father, sitting, grinning;
grows sour and wretched...
his eyes begin to wander to other pictures on the wall, ones that he may find more interesting -
And in an instant he stands up and leaves, not a backward glance, not one...and he never returns.
His seat grows dusty and old and is never filled again.

Pictures are the stuff of memories, whether they be good or bad, they serve as a constant reminder of the past...which helps us handle the future.