Life Still

Life still/still life with socks.

It was a plain kind of day. All I had to do was take a pictures of things. That was the job I'd made up. I didn’t want to do it, but I did it anyway. Something told me to. I don’t know if it came from inside or outside my head.

I was calm about everything now. The people I loved. The money. The world pressing down. It would all go the way it would go. Kismet.

The only thing left was to keep a record. A record of what had happened. What was happening. What might come. 

Then the mirror writing began but from the keyboard.

That was enough. Quite enough.