I am A Camera
am a camera," she whispered to herself in the shower, sliding her
fingers along the rail already installed for the day when she wouldn't
be able to find her way out. She thought of herself as one of those old
devices with a photographer hiding under a cloth, producing
sepia-washed pictures. She clicked and whirred and stored images
inside. She catalogued scenes from her memory, faces and landscapes,
each titled for easy access, later on. Later on.
the day came, the shutters of her camera floundered against the
darkness. She sat still, noises pressing around her, and opened her
photo album. "May 1st, Brighton, me and Simon," she murmured, and her
inside eye saw the colours and textures, bright and alive. Images came
up as she bid them.
"Stay with me," she whispered, the pixels dancing on the inside of her
eyelids. She gripped the arms of the chair.
"Stay with me," she demanded, but the colours were already starting to
© Tania Hershman 2012
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