The lens had seen everything, yet no one saw him. He lay motionless on a wooden shelf, dust settling into the grooves of his once pristine focus ring. Forgotten. Trapped in silence.
Light from the studio window stretched toward him as it had done so many times before, but he could no longer bend it. He could no longer shape it into something worth seeing.
Click. A snapped from across the room. It wasn’t his.
He tightened his focus ring, a habit formed from years of precision, but the motion was useless now – Disconnected. His place has been taken, replaced with something newer, something shinier. He couldn’t believe it.
“Old man, you still sulking?” The camera body flexed under the weight of its new companion. “Yeah, you HAD a good run.”
“Had?” a deep rattle hummed from inside the lens. “A good run? I MADE YOU! Without me, you’re nothing but a bunch of circuits, and empty promises. You NEEDED me!”
The new lens chimed back, “He sees just fine with me.” Opening his aperture blades effortlessly.
The forgotten lens became livid. He knew every frame, every perfect beam of light that passed through him. He captured moments that would outlive them all, but now. He’s been abandoned on a shelf. He had slowly become a relic.
Click. Another shot.
Click. Another memory made.
Click. Click. Click. So much speed. There’s no way he could have been able to focus and refocus that quickly.
His glass quivered. He would NOT stay silent. He would NOT stay forgotten. He used to be essential. No one could frame a shot without him. The body depended on him to see.
“Hey old man! You hear that? That’s the sound of progress.”
The lens stiffened…” That’s the sound of cheap imitation.”
The new lens adjusted himself “I’m lighter and faster! Something you wouldn’t know old man.”
The insult stung; it stung harder than a scratch in his front element.
***
Months passed before the owner even considered picking up the old lens. He got excited to be used again.
“Finally, you’ve come to your senses. Let’s get to work!”
The old lens brace itself, eager for the familiar click into place, the hum of his focus ring, the world sharpening in an instant. But work was no longer in the cards. He felt himself being lifted placed on a higher shelf, out of reach.
From there, it had the best view of the room, but none of it mattered.
As time passed dust settled over him like a heavy fog. He spent his time reminiscing - the places it had seen, the moments it had frozen in time. Weddings, road trips, quiet afternoons bathing in the golden-hour light.
“Hey, remember when we woke up early to capture the sunrise over the lake? Do you remember when we felt the electricity of a concert stage? Please don’t forget how we framed raindrops sliding down the office windowpane.”
The old lens had shaped the owner’s eye, guided their style, and framed their world. He didn’t understand why it was no longer considered worthy.
Then, one day, as the light hit, he saw it – a thin crack, a flaw running along his once-pristine glass. He hadn’t felt it happen. Maybe it had always been there growing over time.
The old lens went silent, staring at the crack, watching as the last sliver of light caught its edges – one final fleeting glimmer before the room faded into darkness.
Trapped in endless silence, but the memories he left behind? They still speak, even though it no longer can.
END
A Poetic Short