I dip my thumb in the colouring and smear it across the bricks.
I survey the beginnings of my final piece.
Not enough. It isn't enough. It has to be deeper.
I wince and procure more of the paint.
I stop to breathe.
Again. Another streak of colour.
I won't be able to finish it.
I must.
I won't have enough.
I will.
No, I need more.
More...
A face, a glint of metal. A hand over mine.
Ah, more. So many. This is enough.
Red, red. Glistening paint. The taste of metal.
It is finished.
I step back.
The piece is not how I imagined it. It is something beyond my creation.
There are people beside me. Five strangers, their hands covered in red.
One holds something out to me. What is it?
White, like a soft cloth. Rolled up... gauze. He's offering me bandages.
I gaze at them, admiring the contrast of the white against the red on my skin. And the painting.
The painting... was it not my final one? I stare at the gauze again.
All of them are waiting, I can feel it.
What for? For me?
Me, is it.
I look at the painting again.
And back at the gauze.
I hold out my wrists and feel pressure around them as the man wraps them securely in bandages.
So quiet. When was it that this peaceful quietness filled the air?
Warmth surrounds me as the man, who has finished tending to me, holds me in a tight embrace.
He releases me, yet the warmth lingers. At my sign of thanks, he nods.
He begins wrapping his own wrists in gauze and the other four do their own.
A pat on the back. A warm squeeze on the shoulder. A hand tousling the hair. A gentle hug. Two hands engulfing mine, a pair of brown eyes meeting my own.
Swaddled in silence, the five strangers say goodbye one by one and walk away.
I am left by myself.
I stare at the painting.
I watch the gauze as a thin line of red appears and slowly grows larger.
I look upwards at the strip of sky running between buildings. I see the painting.
It's my choice this time.
