There it was the camera flashing
Illuminating the barn
The smell hanging thick in the air
Like the humidity
Everyone wanted their picture taken
Everyone wanted to look the same
Dead eyes
Pale perfect skin
There was no blemish
No stretch marks
Life sized dolls
The photographer
Made his living this way
He simply gave them what they wanted
He had his own bills to pay
But there they were
He felt like a dressmaker
Or an old con man selling sugar packets
Dead eyes staring back at him…
Everything is copy. 
Regarding Samuel 