She threw the phone to the floor is a desperate attempt to release her anger. His bitter words still cut through her solemn heart and her temper turned to despair. She crumbled to the floor in a heap of tears digging her perfectly decorated nails into the soft flesh of her bare arms, leaving visible marks of the pain she felt.
Talia laid there at the bottom of there stairs for over an hour, her emotions weighing heavy on her petite frame. Her new, much older husband, once the focal point of her love had been caught in a web of lies. One of those lies being even younger than herself.
Talia passed through a spectrum of emotion. Self pity being a particularly prickly one. She has always been a proud woman. Proud when she left her family to begin a life of her own, proud when she introduced this great man, one of wisdom, wealth and love, to her humble family, and ever more proud for taking on 3 stepchildren, all of which were close to her own age. Her husband was a man of material wealth and his own pride was this great mansion filled with all his favourite things. Talia looked around her. Everywhere she saw beiges, creams, blacks, browns, but most of all, white. That was Harry. He stuck to safe 'wealthy' colours. No colour that even bared a single shred of personality passed through the large oak doors, that welcomed you into this grand abode.
Talia jumped up, quick as if all her emotions evaporated into thin air. She took to the the stairs, bouncing up them as if she was lighter than air. She jogged down to hall and into a neat room, the one of her youngest step-daughter, only 5 years younger than herself. She scuttled around under the bed and pulled out a great artists folder, after all, her stepdaughter did major in art at college. A piece of knowledge that had only now had come into use.
She jogged down the stairs threw open the folder and laid it on the glass table in the kitchen. She eyed the colours, each more brilliant than the last. She picked out a bright blue, squeezed it hard into her palm, walked over the beige drapes and smeared the oily substance right down the length of the curtain. Feeling no better than before she reached back into the folder and brought out a mustard yellow, a crimson red and a magenta pink. She took the whole tubes and walked around, smearing the paint on everything Harry took pride on, his barely used snooker table, across his art work, all over the expensive marble work tops, across his high-tech television and speakers. Still Talia had an ache in her poor heart. She reached back in to the depths of the folder and looked for another tube. She pulled out a brilliant lime green, not even used and ready to leak its smeary contents anywhere she pleased. She knew where to go. She walked into a lavishly decorated office room, Harrys favourite room. In the corner sat a beautiful, antique, parisian, cream couch. Harry had recently doled out a pretty penny for this item. Without a second thought, the scorned Talia burst open the lid of the colour and dribbled it across the white fabric. The lime paint dug its claws into the fibres of the delicate piece, each blob slowly expanding its staining fingertips to every inch of the expensive thread. Talia giggled momentarily at the irony of the fresh, exotic, lime shade complemented the pure white of couch, not that Harry would agree. Talia moved it around, pushing hard, releasing her bitterness, her pain, her shame. Having been satisfied that it was coloured beyond repair, Talia walked straight out the door, a small but significant sense of justice trailed behind her.
Next Colour... Mango!