The camera dropped from her hands.
She couldn't do it.
It felt too vulgar, taking that shot, the one on every camera, taken over and over again- the shots of unhappy people with forced grins. The photographs no person would ever look at again.

It shattered into thousands of mirror-bright pieces. That day, she cried.

When she wrote the elegy, the pen broke too- it wept sable tears, she thought. Oh, how she wished to photograph that.

Hello, my name is Melikian.