She twisted the tea towel in her hands; fingers running ever so slightly over the worn fabric. Rivers of ink trailed from her fingertips as she traced the grooves and pattern of the cloth, slowly dying it a deep blue mixed with a faint, shinning gold.
Satin streaks traced through the channels of her counter top, staining them forever purple with a touch of crimson.
A few tears dripped form her lashes and she brushed her fingers lightly over a corner of the table, smearing the dark water colors and paints into a fierce blush.
The clock on the wall ticked, seemingly unaware of the fact that time itself had stopped. From the ground she retrieved her mother’s soggy documents and papers. She bent down and picked up her own papers; bursting notebooks filed with a new kind of language.
Now soggy we’re the glimmering silver streaks and magenta dashes. Ink welled into bubbles and then ran; slip sliding across papers and cascading down the arms of her brushes and pens.
Dancing, fuchsia pinks mixed violently with rusty oranges, creating eye-catchingly bizarre colors. Dusky blues heaped themselves onto vibrant clementine colors, and an outburst of ecstatic yellows arose. Silky pearls trickled through muddy browns and reds, creating softer shades of grey as they mixed with whites and creams.
She looked up from the ground, more tears welling in her eyes; her painting, a childish rendering of a rainbow, had been so cruelly destroyed by the interfering cat as he knocked over her water container.