He watches her white feet creep toward the cliff, her legs, her body, her breasts, pearls sheathed in blue.
Her crown of leaves springs out from her gold-framed pearl face as she runs, so slowly.
Her toes crunch branches and leaves.
She reaches the edge, the water swirling far below.
And falls, twisting to catch his dark eyes as she plummets.
He smiles again and touches an aching rib. It isn’t broken. It never was.
But there ‘is’ a hole there, and the bones of his naked torso are poking through it. He sticks his hand into the hole briefly, waggling his fingers around in the goo.
Black paint comes out, oozing onto his black trousers.
For relief from the pain and the paint, he swipes the oily medium on his trouser leg, stretches the leg out beyond his other’s bent knee, then returns to the now-blank canvas.
He dips his brush into the black paint, to begin the work again.
But in the back of his mouth, his teeth grind as if fashioning a sword.