"How can you say it's real?" He asked.
She shrugged and continued swirling her brush in the canvas. "I dont know. Maybe when you get those disgusting butterflies" she crinkled her nose and flicked her brush to the side, making the paint splatter everywhere.
He gasped. She stopped and laugh after seeing what she has done.
"I killed those butterflies long ago." He said smiling, wiping off the paint staining his face.
She sighed and dipped her brush in black and mixed it to her canvas where its only full of bright red colors. "RIP to poor little butterflies. RIP to the hope the butterflies killed."
YOU ARE READING
Excerpts Of Stories I'll Never Write
RandomPersonal entries WARNING: VERY UGLY || UNPROFESSIONALLY WRITTEN || RIP GRAMMAR || RIP SPELLING || RIP CREATIVITY
