"Smile!"

The word came out less a command than a request, like a bed-bound child asking to feel the sun on her face. I pressed the button on my camera and heard the mechanical click of the #shutter. For a flickering moment, the world turned white.

Molly, my partner, sat balled up in the fetal position on our black faux-leather couch, her fingers shielding her deep brown eyes.

"Fuck! Okay, okay, enough already!" she exclaimed, her voice half-muffled by the web-like flesh and bone of her hands. "Why do you want to get pictures of me anyway? It's not like I'm going anywhere, what with... well."

She raised her arms in a wordless gesture that hinted at something unspoken yet obvious to us both.

"They're not for me," I replied, lowering the camera. "They're for whoever comes after us. I want them to know that we were here, you know? That we were..." I paused, scrabbling against the walls of my skull for the word.

"...real?" Molly said, the word lingering in the air like a vapor.

"Yeah," I said, plopping myself down beside her on the couch. The old thing groaned in protest, as though annoyed at the indignity of being forced to shoulder the weight of a second body. "Real. And that we loved each other."

Molly turned to face me and let out a soft sigh. "What does it even mean to be real, anyway? Like..."

She paused and glanced down at her lap, then back up again, softly biting her lip.

I decided to break the silence. "I really don't know, Mol," I said, draping my arm across the back of the couch behind her head. "But maybe this will make us a bit more so."

"I don't-"

A muffled bang, like someone had set off dynamite across the street, shook the walls of the apartment. Outside, a din of voices grew, punctuated by shouts. To my ears, it sounded as though hell itself had overflowed from the sewers.

"Quick," I said, retracting my arm and reaching again for my camera. "I don't know when they'll get here. We may not have much time."

I turned back to Molly, but her attention had shifted to the front door. I followed her gaze. In that moment, that bone-hued pane of wood seemed so thin, the deadbolt securing it so pathetic a protective measure. It was too fragile. Everything was too fragile.

"Babe," Molly said, her voice quivering. "I'm scared."

"I know," I replied. "Me too." It was all I could say in the moment. I wanted so badly to protect her, but I was like the door, like the walls and ceiling, like every measure that we so naively believed would shield us. It was all tissue paper, ready to be crumpled. And so was I.

I raised the camera again. "One more," I said, steadying my voice as much as I could. "Just one more. So that they know."

"Smile..."

#wss366

In photography, your exposure time is referred to as your shutter speed. When you use a cinema camera, it's known as a shutter angle. #filmmaking #shutter #camera

https://peekatthis.com/an-introduction-to-shutter-speed-and-shutter-angle/