Road To The Moon [one-minute stories]

Sour Milk

Liquid purity, a flowing splendor of white, the substance of life and love. The pasteurized milk was flowing from the ceramic pitcher into a bowl like silk, so soft with its sweet slightly unctuous texture. Its coldness was freezing her hands in the break of day. The rays of the morning sun brushing her cheeks, reaching through the glass window.
She straightening her back to let the rays touch her décolleté, warm her in the suns embrace. Golden rays reflecting the gold of her bodice, contrasted by her virgin blue skirt. If coldness was purity, flames were sin.

Flames from the foot warmer on which she had warmed her feet while watching the blue tiles displaying cupids pointing their arrows at unexpecting men, filling their hearts with flames of desire. Causing them to spoil whichever purity they could find.

Soon, her blue skirt could no longer hide the inflation brought upon her by those flames. Like the freshly baked bread laid out before her, she would expand, disgracing the virgin blue with the evidence of her heathen sin.

Though why did this sin bring her such amorous feelings? Why could the idea of being graced with the gift of life bring nothing but a smile upon her face, regardless of the circumstances?

Regardless of what punishment her maiden heart befell, she would not beg for forgiveness. She would be life-giving, like the milk, but impure and defiled.

She was like sour milk, which would most likely be thrown out.

Word count: 250 words

A/N: Thank you, earnestycommunity  for this amazing first contest subject for Through my Eyes. I adore this painting, even went to the museum to see it up close before I wrote my micro fiction about it. The detail of Vermeers paintings is incredible.