The Last Picture

Through the viewfinder, I see her settling on the sofa. Something about her bothered me. She wanted this and she won’t take my no. This could be her last, she said. And she wanted me to take the last one. Her condition is that bad already?

“You know what your strength is? The picture you take, perfect from the first shot,” then she rested her head.

 “There’s no need to whisper Marilyn, it’s only us here,” I didn’t know.

 Her gaze denied the truth. She was looking outside, calm, and she was smiling.

 Snap.

She didn’t turn around as always.