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That night, she aimed it at her sleeping daughter and pressed the shutter. The motor whirred. A photograph slid out, gray and blank.

She took another photo of the empty hallway. The picture showed a crowded street, old cars, rain. micronemagazine

Her daughter woke up crying, saying a strange woman had been whispering in her dream: Tell her I'm still here. That night, she aimed it at her sleeping

In the meantime, here’s a very short story in the spirit of flash fiction (micro fiction), the kind that might appear in a small literary magazine: rain. Her daughter woke up crying

She bought it for five dollars.