The Painting.

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The sun lit up the pink and mauve waves with sparkles. The wet, velvet ocean stretched on until it merged with the harmonious horizon, flame-flickered with cerulean, bottle-jade and lilac. The wind teased and wrinkled the water, the crinkles set alit with golden chrysophase mirrors that reflect the setting sun. The pacific image suffused my mind with colour.

A few wisps of hair shield my view of heaven, if a hypnotizing ecstasy. I flick the hair off my face and gaze seductively into the dangerously beautiful picture.

The ocean grabs at the saffron sand, like greasy oily hands reaching for gold. It’s greedy whitecaps lap at the shore, polishing and licking the tan crystals clean. I stare deeper into the painting, forcing my reality to dilute. My vision, blurred at the corners like hot breath against a glass window. The panoramic view I was looking at a moment ago, it’s real.

The fragrant breeze bright with it the succulent, sweet scent of Frangipanis entwined with the balmy coconuts that hung heavily off the palm branches. They grew along the edge of the beach, arching, their shadows stretching long against the salty cadmium grains.

As the blood-rose sun sank behind the Earth, it left the sky ochre and ruby in its wake. The rhythmic waves crashed softly, whispering to me, beckoning me.

My feet moved thoughtlessly, sinking into the cool, feathered sand, oozing between my toes. The shore was almost blinding white under the newly harvested moon. Blank, I moved silently down the beach like a silk scarf streaming through the night. I was in heaven, a dream. Everything was a sereal masterpiece.

I started to notice chinks in my perfection. The symmetry seemed out of line. The cobalt blue sky, choked me, made me feel claustrophobic, it was hiding the landscape around me. The sand, brittle and barbed, ice against my skin. The trees, spiny like skeletons, were stalking me, taunting behind my back.

The toothed waves clawed against the coarse corrugated sand, digging in their barbs and spurs as if they were escaping the ocean. The sea is oily and jet-tar, thick and bubbling under the nights smothering blanket. I was choking on a nightmare.

The Jarring groan of thunder pierced the sky and rippled across the beach, stifling my hushed cries. The stench of putrid, rotting fruit lay dead on the ground. The sickly odor was rancid in my mouth. My raven eyes, cracked with veins bloodshot with scarlet vines.

I surged back to reality, sucked out of my hell, the abyss. Waves echoing, then, nothing. Blank. The blinding absence of light shot through me.


I stood, shivering, trembling at the picture on the wall. It was an ocean, beautiful. I think to myself, I’ve been there before. I shake the thought out of my head and stand in an eerie, dormant museum. It was just a picture, hanging from a small silver hook. I couldn’t see it, but I knew it was there.





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