Immersed in the light of the sun, she bathes with the angels. 2005.

I sat by her bedside, she was laid out in a purple velvet scarf, her red hair gone.

My camera was in my bag, my camera was always in my bag.

So, I took it out and took her picture, in the dead of the night. Her pale skin reflecting the pale moon. She was not here, but her face was. Her face, bloated only last night, was now sinking back into itself.

Everyone was asleep so no-one would know if I took a lot of pictures. She would be raging.

I took them.

I used them to make this painting.

Then my laptop containing them died, then my camera died.

She definitely found out.