I taste it on my tongue before seeing it on my fingers.
I have become a collage of purple bruises and red gashes. A beautiful abstract piece.
But I can hear the artist returning to finish his work.
I can’t hear mom crying now. I hope she isn’t sad anymore…
© Copyright 2016 Blake31. All rights reserved.
Book / Thrillers
Short Story / Religion and Spirituality
Short Story / Literary Fiction
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