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Still Life by Ian Seed

When I walk alone in the park among smiling families, larking youths and giggling girls, it’s as beautiful as a painting come to life. It’s as if someone were watching all of us. But what will happen when the gallery closes at the end of the day, and the bright picture is plunged into darkness? Will we still be here then? As I walk on, I feel strangers fix their gaze upon me, pinning me in the air. In the end, I am no longer moving at all, though I swing my arms and pump my legs absurdly like a puppet.