Perfect Portrait

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
Amy smiled as she ran her finger across the canvas, creating a deep red line. Her lover was with her, and soon everything, like the portrait, would be perfect. It didn't matter that he was dead.

Submitted: April 08, 2012

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Submitted: April 08, 2012

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 Perfect Portrait
 Amy Winters smiled softly as her finger glided across the rough texture of canvas, gracefully filling the board with a rich crimson hue colliding against gray tones. She stepped back and huffed away a lock of blonde hair. Her latest--and possibly greatest--piece was beautiful, yet not quite complete yet. Amy decided to take a break.
 “So what do you think so far?” she questioned her boyfriend, though knowing his response already. Mark d’Att sat there laid back in his favorite armchair, unreasoning and silent. He was a man of few words, but his facial expressions told everything his voice couldn’t. His current face was enough for Amy to smile and gently kiss him on the cheek in thanks.
 The young woman didn’t bother to wash her hands, as they would become tainted again by the pretty paint in the bottle. She went to the fridge and took out a cylinder of chocolate ice cream. She grabbed two spoons from the small cupboard and walked back to the living room. Amy sat on the couch next to Mark and placed the ice cream container on their dusty coffee table. She handed him a spoon and turned on the television.
 Flipping through the somewhat fuzzy channels on their cheap cable, she planted her spoon in the rich chocolate delicacy.
 “Wow, what a gentleman you are,” she commented to Mark, who just sat there with his spoon and let her take a few bites first. He was always so polite and sweet. That’s one of the many things she loved about him.
 Finally, they settled for a local newscast. It was the same old news anchor as always, and she was reporting the same old story. Amy shook her head in slight amusement.
 “Five months ago, Mark d’Att and Amy Winter’s mysterious disappearance shook the entire neighborhood of Junebud. Two high school juniors, the two were sweethearts and earned disapproval from both of their families. It is assumed they ran away together and could be anywhere in the state by now--”
 At this point, Amy was giggling. They still weren’t giving in to the fact that they were deeply in love and had to run away to keep it. All they needed was each other, right? Besides, who would have guessed they would be living in a cheap motel not far from Junebud with Mark taking odd jobs and Amy doing some house cleaner work for the motel? They were teenagers; how far could they really go? Sure, at the moment, money was sort of an issue, but like everything else, the duo would make it through.
 “--if anyone sees or knows of the location of Mark d’Att or Amy Winters, please contact either the d’Att or Winters household to report it. With your help, these two minors can be safe and sound once more.”
 “Silly news reporters,” she brooded as their school pictures flashed on the screen. Amy laughed and nudged Mark, a knowing smile etched upon her pale face. Their families (if they could still call them that after they tried to break up their love) might as well give up. They couldn’t even find them a few miles out of their neighborhood, and it had already been months. Seriously, the two could easily pass for adults to get to places.
 “It’s stupid, isn’t it? They thought they could come between us just because we’re young and apparently don’t know what love is. Silly fuckers.” As always, Mark sat in his chair and agreed with Amy. She continued to chuckle at the sheer perfection of the situation. It was only a matter of time before the news reporters would have to stop reporting about their disappearances and move onto something more current. Then they would finally roam without the police on their asses to a different town across the state and completely start over. No one would know who they are, just that they are a relatively young (yet still adult) married couple from a few states over. It was perfect.
 Speaking of perfection, she really should finish her masterpiece. Amy took one last mouthful of ice cream and grabbed her favorite bottle of red substance. Suddenly, she just remembered something somewhat important.
 “Honey, you thought about your highly moronic decision, right?” How could she have forgotten? The past few weeks they’ve had their little love spats, but the one the night before was their biggest one to date. Mark was backing out of everything. Life was too tough for him. He wanted to go home to his parents, to leave their perfect life, to leave Amy.
 “I made a mistake in doing this. I don’t think I ever loved you, just how you looked to me. We’re still just kids,” he explained calmly and emotionlessly. “As Shakespeare once said in Romeo and Juliet, ‘Young men’s love then lies not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes.’”
 The man with very little words tore her apart in his regret for running away with her. She sobbed and begged for him to stay, and it seemed as if he wouldn’t budge. But she would never stand for it. Never.
 He still stayed the next morning, and at the moment, his face told her what she needed. To her it was full of adoration and promise, in harmony with her own feelings. The young woman beamed and continued splattering the vermillion liquid on the stained canvas. It gorgeously complemented the ashes and brown strings on the background. Now for the finishing touches.
 The man didn’t use his spoon for the ice cream. Maybe he was being a little too generous in letting her eat. Whatever. It was ok. Amy took the utensil from him and, wielding it carefully like a skilled sculptor, she brought it up to his eyes.
 The artist squeezed the utensil around his right eyeball, cut a vein, and popped the eye out of its socket. She did the same with the other, all the while smiling maniacally. She twirled both slimy spheres in her palms, gazing lovingly into his eyes. Amy took her favorite butcher knife and, with regret for having to damage such beautiful eyes, chopped both in half so she could glue them on the canvas. The orbs stuck onto the surface with a sickening splotch. It strongly reminded her of kindergarten when they glued googley eyes to their cat pictures; only this was in the name of her romance.
 Amy stepped back and admire her work. The blood scattered throughout the portrait, ranging from tiny droplets to huge marks covering about a quarter of the canvas. His domes added a stunning jade touch to the portrait, really matching his sandy hair. The dusty ashes from their burnt dinner last night (due to her getting distracted while listening to Mark’s heartbreaking words) were set as a backdrop. However, something was still missing.
 She took her trusty butcher knife and ran her finger along the blade, creating a deep cut at the tip. A wondrous trickle of her love poured out. Perfect. Amy took her bleeding appendage and drew a scarlet heart where his mouth was supposed to be. Now she’s part of everything he says and does.
 Now her magnificent portrait was complete. It was perfect--no, flawless. Flawless like their love. Amy Winters felt a light joy swell in her stomach. She jumped up on Mark’s lap and cuddled his form, enjoying every little touch inflicted. Who cares if there were stains and rips on his shirt? Who cares if his face was mangled and eyeless, and that part of his scalp had been hastily hacked off by the butcher knife? Who cares if the skin on his entire body was sticky and dyed from his own blood squeezed right out of his heart? Who cares if said heart now lay in a jar by her bed? Who cares if he would never say anything to her outside of the mouth she painted for him? Mark d’Att, her lover, her other half, her life, was there to stay with her. Forever.
 It didn’t matter that he was dead.


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