Painting

The mind of an artist.

It was exquisite. The crimson water dripped from the walls, and he took a step back. He was surprised with himself. Not by the fact that he did this, but by the fact that he did this beautifully. It was a masterpiece.

                Slowly, he dripped to his knees, fingers stained and dry, his hair matted by his choice of paint. It splashed around his knees, and he had to force himself not to make edits. No, it was perfect this way. Shivering and drawing a breath, he stood and took a few steps back, toward his bag. He had to be quick.

                Rummaging through his bag’s pockets, he let out a relieved sigh and took out a camera, snapping a photo. This would be going in his scrapbook under the floorboards with all the others. She would never be alone again.

                Once the photo was taken and the camera put away, he scurried into the bathroom to change. He had to see Vincent, to tell him how well he was doing, and he couldn’t do so covered in red. Vincent would be so proud. Or… He could react the same way he did last time. He didn’t appreciate that one very much. Heaving a sigh, he exited the bathroom, then the house into the blue starry night.

                “I’ll tell him tomorrow.”

Author's Note

This one was rather quick and very little effort was put into it. Very short and sweet, and pretty direct. C&C please.

Reviews

[Distant horizons]

great write, thanks for sharing.