He dips his paintbrush into the heavy pot of paint provided for him willingly, and pulls it out again, laden with the stuff. He then proceeds to paint her, a blank canvas. Swooping and swift strokes cover her body.
Red.
That is the colour of the paint. A stain is what it will become, tainting her canvas for eternity. She feels it coating her body and feebly attempts to pull the brush away from him but fails.
Could she even begin to wash the paint away?
A/N- Hi, so this story is only 4 A4 pages long so i'm splitting it into 4 or so chapters :) hope you're enjoying it! it's heavily metaphorical at the moment.
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I Am His Canvas
Short StoryThis a story I wrote for an English language exam. The prompt was "Write about witnessing a crime"; I am very proud with how it turned out. //TW for rape.
