Snuff was dead. Or was it? After all, the girl looked like she was dead. Didn’t she? He was no longer sure if it mattered anymore, even if she was, in fact, very much alive, underneath it all. Here he was, a man, and he had been a porn director for a very long time, and now he was bored. It made sense, to him, at least, that he had come to this place, that he had arrived at this location, that he had reached this conclusion. The girl stood at the end of the bed. Play dead, he told her. Her skin was powdered white. Her eyes were outlined in black. She rolled her eyes into her head. She fell onto the bed behind her, her arms and legs spread wide as if she was an angel. The guy walked into the room. He stood in front of the director. He stared at the girl pretending to be dead on the bed. Jesus Christ, the guy said, looking at the girl. Come on, the director said, trying to sound nice. Jesus Christ, the guy said again. He ain’t here, said the man with the video camera who was standing behind them. The girl opened her eyes. She stared at the ceiling. The guy took off his clothes. Then, Action. The girl’s eyes closed. The guy climbed on top of her. The director sat at the video-monitor. He watched the guy and the girl. The girl’s head was flopping backwards. Her mouth was gaping open. The dark eye of the camera was pushing into them. In the blue light, the director recognized the look in the girl’s face. She was gone.

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