Blank Canvas

I stand in a white room. There’s large windows. The only color comes from the light brown wood floor, and the large fire place to my left. The windows are large, perfectly clear. I see trees, and flowers in the distance. Blowing in the breeze. I can see the leaves. See the round spots of light over the ground. I focus again on the walls. The blank canvas. I move stuff in sending each thing to there proper place. Hang my many, many paintings. I pull back my curly brown hair. The bottom half orange. I wear a striped pink shirt, and black overalls. I move black canvases, and paints into what is to be my studio. A small chandelier hands above. I’m back in my white studio. I open the last box. I uncover the painting as it flys over. The first thing I notice is the carnage. The next thing I notice is the date. The painting the inspired the gore fest the night I almost died. I start to hyperventilate as memories try to surface. I open the storage closet, re-cover it, and place it in the back. There’s brooms, and paints cans. And I painting I’d rather not remember. I calm my breathing. After a few minutes I get to work. Painting a few things at once. A still life, a portrait, another horror scene, and waist land. I zone in one the waist land. A world long ago. When everything ended. I hear a knock at the door, and my brush falls splattering red paint on the floor.