Blank Canvas.

“The bedroom’s done.”

His reflection looks like a wraith, white skin blending in with his white overalls blending in with the white walls. The night presses at the tall window like a lover trying to pander his way back into my heart.

“So it’s just the hallway left?”

“Yup. Then I’ll be gone. Out of your hair.” The painter smiles, sadly it seems.

“Okay. Well I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” I turn from the gloaming to face him. “Would you like some coffee before you go? Something to eat?”

“Oh, uh, coffee, please. Don’t want to fall asleep at the wheel.” Again, that sad little smile.

“What do you think of these walls?” I say, handing him a steaming mug. “Should they stay white? Or should I change them?”

“I should think that ought to be your decision. Although my bank account tells me you should put some colour in this place, liven it up.”

We share a laugh.

“Maybe.” A sigh. “Maybe green. I always liked green.” His eyes were green. “Or maybe yellow.” He’d always hated yellow. “Yes, yellow, really cheer the place up.”

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4 responses to “Blank Canvas.

  • Thiefree

    I really like this. Beautifully gentle undercurrents. I don’t think I really caught what you were saying with the colours at the end – possibly because my first thought was of The Yellow Wallpaper, which is about women and madness and thus probably not what you meant at all!

    Great blog you’ve got here.

  • Andrew

    I get what you mean. I read The Yellow Wallpaper recently, ages after I’d written this. I’m not a very good English student, y’see. It was as it is- I knew someone who absolutely HATED the colour yellow, and couldn’t eat anything yellow, especially if it was lemon flavoured, that was a double whammy for them. I stole that for this.

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