The Perfect Death
The Perfect Death2 mins 322 2 mins 322
He called me through the voice,
The voice which I hated the most.
Through the sound that resonated my mind and struck my mind with despise...
"Yes, Mr Mayre"
" What's with this painting, it looks likes a piece of dirt."
The old hag exclaimed looking at my painting while smoking the cigar...
" I'm sorry sir, but you mistook the concept of painting its not dirt, its mud, its ground, it shows the fertility of person, ready to sow..."
" Ya., your mumbling and explanation won't pay me any profits. Discard this and paint something that depicts lavishness and royalty for our mayor."
" But this painting was to encourage the youth to prove the productivity for the metamorphosis of the new world. It is a better project if we could complete..."
"Tell me what do I pay you for??? To have arguments with me?? "
I fisted the paintbrush I had in my hand. This man is the most monopolistic greedy bastard.
" No sir... "
" Good, get back to the task I allotted."
I fisted my palms tighter.
" Yes, sir."
"And if possible keep this canvas somewhere else. It diverges our idea of royalty. I don't want clients to see this and think of us erroneously. "
This broke the last ounce of control I had.
" Yes, sir."
I opened my palms to see the brush broken into two pieces.
Few shreds of wood pierced my palms and blood drew out. Little bit.
Every drop counts...
Even if it's water...
Even if it's paint
Or even if its blood...