Red Does Not Look Good with Green

What happens when two colors simply do not go together?

Red does not look good with green.

Well, here goes my “masterpiece.” I set my paintbrush down. Closing my eyes, I let in a shaky breathe. I look at the canvas and it stares back at me: mocking.

Could I be losing my touch? It has been a while since I last played with my acrylics. Man, this must be an achievement on its own. Local wannabe artist destroys his own painting.

My thoughts are disrupted with a sound. A sound which I’m only starting to recognize after living in this house for six months. The main door opens; I close the lid of red.  

This is going to be a long night.

“Where were you?” I spin around in my chair to face him. Except it was not a revolving chair so I just yanked it to turn around. I decide to ignore the shrill, screeching sound this action made.

“Whoa, dramatic much?” My best friend and roommate lets out a chuckle. Closing the door behind him, he finally takes a look at the interior.

Sheets of papers scattered all around the room, making a dense pile at the centre. And sitting right at the middle of that pile was me, a wannabe artist. Perhaps trying a little too hard to make the colours magically look good together. He walks to the middle of the fake grass. Our fake grass. It was too new and too expensive to keep outside on the terrace. I look at the fake grass. The green looked good. So much better than the one on my painting. ”Where were you?” I finally look at him and blink.

“Couldn’t get the bus so I walked.” He blinks back.

“Oh.” I get up and walk to the corner that we call ‘Kitchen.’ “Well, it’s late. Let’s eat.”

“Yeah about that-“

“I made this onion soup with…”

“-I kinda already ate. Sorry.”

“… garlic.”

I frown. He closes his eyes (he knows what’s coming).

Opening his eyes, he says: “There’s this new sandwich shop down the corner. I got tired from all the walking.”

“That’s fine.” It wasn’t. I didn’t put enough garlic because he hated it.

“Hey how about we do dinner tomorrow? I’ll cook.”

“We were planning this for 3 days.” I start to chop some garlic.

“Come on man don’t sound so disappointed.”

“I’m not disappointed.” Well, it’s just dinner. Not that big of a deal. I stop chopping.

“Come on man.”

“It’s just so frustrating,” Turning to him, I smile blankly. “How little you care.”

“Put the knife away.”

The rubber on the knife handle was smooth. All smooth except this tiny bump where my thumb is. I was holding it as if cutting an onion.

Obviously, I’m not going to stab him. I’m not crazy. He’s my best friend. This is just to scare him. Scare him into caring about me? 

A swift stroke on his shoulder, and he was down on the ground, whimpering. 

Blood. Blood everywhere on our fake grass. I was now rubbing the tiny bump with my thumb.

Red does not look good with green.