Throwen up in an uneven do, the few wisps of hair that
escaped and streched toward the ceiling began to dance to the
beat that drop from the speakers. Dollps of paint fell from
frantic swipes of the brush to land on the warm flesh of
her bare feet.
A swipe of the darkest black and a splash of seafoam green,
the final step in the artist's dance, it was finished. A
back has her criticizing her work. She drops the brush and
the paints. The screeching from the speakers almost cover up
flying out her lungs. She grabs the painting and throws it
the room. As the portrait crashes to the ground, broken, she
to the ground and crushes the picture she just recreated and
to her chest.
"Why?" The question drowns in the rough music still escaping
but still she speaks not ever believing her questions could be
"Why did you do it?"
The grip on the picture she had in her hand tighten to
a destructive pressure, "Why did you leave me?"
A glance across the room has a new wave of emotion coursing
through her blood as she stares at the face of her brother.
"I would have helped you, I could have helped you, but I
She collapse full into herself, the hard, concrete of her
does not allot her any comfort.
"I didn't know. I didn't know. I didn't know." Her soft
of sorrow turn in shouts of anger as once again she rises
and in a fit of unmanageable anger she grabs the closest
in reach and flings it away from her. The
sound of destruction does nothing to sooth the hurting woman as
rampages around the basement crushing, throwing, ripping
anything in front of her,
anything to distract her from the void in her chest that
to swallow her whole. The stereo is ripped from the wall
the music her sibling used to listen to comes to a halt
as she flings the radio at her newest creation. Another glimpse
the painted face of her younger brother has the womans anger
into wisps of smoke as the sobs take over her body. She
clutches at her own skin, unforgiving in her attempt to escape
feeling of guilt.
"It's all my fault, if I had known or done something
She crawls in the rubble of art supplies and unidentified
to the blown up face of her family member.
Gently she runs a lovingly hand across the still wet paint,
the colors together.
"Why did you have to kill youself?"
Broken free of the restaining tie, the mane of unruly hair
to quiver from the body wrenching sobbs that drop from the
who clutches a picture of a boy to her chest.