Putting color onto the canvas brought a smile to his face and chase away his frustrations
As the white disappeared behind his assured strokes, his happiness grew
It was cathartic to brush in his happy little trees standing tall
Nothing could ruin his mood now
This is where all his mistakes were opportunities
Couldn’t tell the difference between red and blue
Or blue and green for that matter
Looking at everything in grayscale made paint choices easier
Only paying attention to lights and darks
Reaching for his brush he channeled his inner M. C. Escher
She very carefully cleansed her face with exfoliator. She took her time since her face was still tender from yesterday. She then opened her moisturizer. The smell of tropical fruits perfumed the air and helped put her in a more relaxed mood. The moisturizer was almost cool to the touch. She enjoyed the way it kept her skin hydrated and smooth. The added SPF to protect didn’t hurt either.
Gently, she layered on foundation, evening out her complexion. She looked at her reflection. She was not happy with what she saw. That woman would just not do. She reached for her almost empty concealer and shook her head. How could she have forgotten that yesterday? That meant another trip to the mall. He wasn’t going to be happy about that, but he did want her to look pretty for him, so maybe he wouldn’t be that angry about it.
With practiced grace she applied a dab under each of her eyes, then on various other spots on face. She took out her makeup brush and blotted it into the foundation. Magically the dark spots softened and blended mostly into the background. She put another round of the concealer over those remaining spots that had proved resistant. This time the blotting finished its magic. She let a small smile escape. Now that was the woman he loved to have.
“Hey, Stella. Get in here!”
Startled, she jumped and lost her grip on her brush. She watched it tumble and fall to the floor. She turned her head to the other room.
“Coming,” she called out.
He didn’t reply. She took that as permission to finish her task. But first she groped for her brush. It took a few times before she managed to retrieve it and put it away. Damn shaking hands. That definitely would not do. She calmed herself by completing the ritual with a quick pat of powder to protect her hard work.
“Stella!”
She looked at the mirror one more time. Yeah, she did good. He should be happy with her. Just one more bit of concealer was needed. She slapped on her happy face and poof; she was perfect for him.
“Coming my love.”
Black hair slowly pulled through his fingers
Releasing the locks he began to get to work
Unkempt snarls scraped by, but he gently unraveled them
Soon he was able to sweep his hands through easily
Her moans of pleasure reminded him how much he liked being a hairdresser
Image: cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0654/1837/products/Paddle_Brush_1b_1024x1024.jpg
Luscious ruby red pucker
It called to him to get close
Perhaps to brush her with his
Still, he kept his distance
The idea of that oily makeup on his face
It kind of freaked him out
Couldn’t she wash it off
Keeping everything perfectly natural
Image: temptalia.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/mac_rubywoo001.jpg
The imp looked back at David and smiled its goofy smile. “What do you think, Master?”
David pondered the reproduction of the Mona Lisa. It was impeccable, except she was frowning. David felt his lips curl into the same shape. “The mouth is wrong.”
The imp looked at the painting again and shook its head. “Nope, that’s the right one. Trust me.”
David pulled out the postcard where that enigmatic smile was displayed in its glory. “No, this is her smile. It’s world famous.”
The imp looked at the postcard and spit. “That hack, da Vinci added that later.”
David pointed at the postcard. “So you’re saying that you were the one who painted that?”
The imp pointed at the canvas in front of it. “No, I painted that. Da Vinci ruined my original vision.”
David picked back up his brush. “You know you are one screwed up muse.”
The imp laughed. “Da Vinci didn’t think so.”
David pointed at the postcard. “That’s not what I see.”
The imp disappeared in a huff of brimstone. David could feel a bemused smile grow on his face. Looking into the mirror he saw it then. The brush practically danced on the canvas.
Image: upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/e/ec/Mona_Lisa%2C_by_Leonardo_da_Vinci%2C_from_C2RMF_retouched.jpg/687px-Mona_Lisa%2C_by_Leonardo_da_Vinci%2C_from_C2RMF_retouched.jpg
Stories and photos from Scotland
A paper-cut survivor
Abdi Mohammed
The Art of Prose and Poetry
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Sarah Torribio and her right brain. Music. Musings. Writing. Style.
We Survived and Arrived - Now as Warriors We Thrive
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Random Stuff I Think You'll Like
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