He Makes Art WarHe wakes up in caverns formed from hardened acrylic paint covering used-up palettes. He breathes in cerulean blue and burnt sienna, and rubs bits of sponge from his eyes. The sunlight leads him to believe it’s almost nine. He’s spent the night recreating all the places he saw her and all the places he wants to find her.He Makes Art War1 week ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes
He stares at his newest piece: a grey- and blue-covered canvas dotted with rainbow. He smells his memories when he looks at it; he smells rain. He sits up straight and lets the paintbrushes roll to the floor with a wooden clang. He stares at the 24x36 thunderstorm with wrinkles in his forehead and swallows hard.
Suddenly the frustration of imperfection (but really not finding her in paint again) hits him and he flings the cup of stagnant, black water at the blue. It sprays across the cotton duck sheet and the not-quite-dry paint calmly runs to hardwood already sprayed with old color. He turns away and feels sorry for himself. He rises to stare out the