Flash Fiction: Distressed Canvas

The colours almost melt into one another, a rainbow of blues and purples and deep reds. Almost beautiful from certain angles. But, perception is everything and beauty is always at the mercy of the beholder.

There is no frame and his canvas sits bare on the wooden floor. His imagination has worked it into his greatest creation to date. From a distance it makes no sense but up close you can see the distinct patterns. Indentations where the artist fuelled his thirst for his work. You can tell its fresh since the red is still trickling down into the other hues.

He stands back to admire his work when suddenly, there is a loud crash and three men enter his workspace intent on taking his masterpiece from him.

But the men move towards him first. He is pushed to his knees and he feels cold metal clasped around his wrists. But he watches still as the colours continue to blend. As he is dragged away there is a smug look on his face.

Her flesh was his canvas and while the blood will dry and the colours on her skin will fade, the marks left on her soul may never heal.