She loved getting her photo taken so much that people called her “the Photobomber,” because she liked to stick her smiling face in people’s shots.

Her most outrageous photobomb was when she photobombed an engaged couple taking their wedding pictures. The couple had chosen a field of tulips as their backdrop. “…action!” shouted the photographer, signaling to the couple to move through a series of poses.

The moment he pressed down on the shutter button was the moment she jumped out, “surprise!” she shouted.

The bride shrieked and buried her face in the groom’s chest. “Who the hell are you?” The photographer barked.

The Photobomber didn’t answer. She just jumped, pointing at the couple, “I surprised you. I surprised you.”

“You’ll paid for this,” the groom spoke in a threatening voice.

“Ooh, am I supposed to be scared?”

The groom didn’t say anything. He took off his jacket and placed it around the bride’s bare shoulders, guiding her away. “It’s okay, honey.”

Two weeks later…

As the bride got ready for her wedding, her mother was in the room watching news on repeat. “Mother, why are you always watching the news? They talk about the same stuff over and over. Why do you have to hear the news so many times?”

Her mother shushed, “Quiet, I’m trying to hear. They are talking about that girl, what’s her name? You know that girl on YouTube that’s always photobombing people’s photos?”

“What about her?”

“She’s dead, apparently. Murder by the look of it.”

Immediately, the bride froze, suddenly remembering her fiancee’s words, “You’ll pay for this.” Murder? “Did they find the murderer?”

“No, it happened just this morning, honey. No one can solve crime this fast.”

Three months later…

The headline on the news read, “Photobomber Bombed the Wrong Victim.”

How could he do this? The bride wondered as she stuffed her clothes into an overnight duffel. Outside her home, reporters were shouting and taking pictures of her house, of their house, which would most likely be put up for his bail, if he could make bail. Can murderers go home? She wondered. Shouldn’t murderers be put away for good?

She couldn’t believe her ears when he confessed to her that he had killed the “Photobomber.” She had been speechless while another part of her was screaming to run.

Zipping her overnight bag, she dumped the bag into the trunk of her car, hopped in, and backed out of the driveway with the journalists darting out of the way. I never want to see this place again.

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