Painting Posies

o n e

                                                         o n e

                                              Nixon Caffrey

The light shade of pink deposited smoothly onto the canvas, blending into the beige to form the blush of the apples of Posy's cheeks. I cleaned the brush, pulling back to admire her delicate face. I dipped the brush into the black and began to paint the thickness of her eyebrows. I focused on perfecting the sharp curve of the arch of each brow, taking note of the one that was slightly raised. 

Her nearly white hair was a challenge in itself. Figuring out the flow of each lock and stray strand, adding subtle hints of grey. 

Her skin was flawless, as it was on the canvas. Her eyes a spectacular shade of blue, lined with white rays around the pupil and framed by a thickness of long lashes.

Her soft lips were curled into a disarming smile, revealing the dimples in each cheek.

Once again, I cleaned the brush and began to mix shades to create the galaxy that was her iris.

Nearly thirty minutes later, I had finally perfected her eyes. All that was left - the color of her lips.

As I dipped the brush in crimson, a memory invaded my mind. The recollection of her mouth against mine, smiling. The feel of her soft hands on my cheeks - in my hair - it began to become to much for me.

My eyes flickered up at the painting as I stumbled back. Those eyes, they glared at me with accusations and hatred. I knocked over a table as I realized that in my sudden hysteria, I'd smeared the red paint across her cheek - like blood.

I cried out in rage, thinking about her - lying in the road and choking on that very same blood. I'd just recreated the nightmare I was trying so hard to forget.

In a haze of anger, I flicked the brush, splattering Posy's face in red. I growled, hurling the entire brush at the canvas, making it topple over as I sunk to the floor.

Forget forgetting.

I would never be able to forget.