The shadow, or spot, caught her attention then. Damn! Was there dust on her lens? She’d cleaned each of them before heading out… or maybe on the mirror when she changed lenses. No the first would be spotless. Still…
She picked up the camera, removed the 50mm 1/4; nothing on the mirror, nor on the lens. Weird… She couldn’t have obstructed every single photo with a finger or the tip of her hat. She was no Karsh but she wasn’t a klutz with her camera.
She placed the lens back on the body, clicked a few times. There it was too. She looked up from her back screen. No shadow… weird. She turned away when a sudden pain caught in her chest. She crumbled. Above her stood a lady, smiling sadly, hand extended. A reaper. The shadow.
A stroke the police would say during the investigation.
In response to Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie’s Finish Off Friday prompt Shadow