A downward spiral, as I stare at the canvas in front of me. It's covered, absolutely plastered with the stickers that you find on a prescription bottle.
I'm laughing, and it's hysterical, the laugh of a madwoman before she finally looses all sanity. There's stickers covering every available free spot on the canvas. And I've draw on it, thin lines of black pen, barely noticeable amongst the black typed text. But they're there, and they form a picture, however crazy it might be.
They're not angels, they're not perfect. They have bumps in the bridges of their noses, uneven eyes, ears that stick out. Faces caught mid-laugh, with tears brimming in eyes, scowls forming. They were with me all my life, and now they're gone.
I hear a keening sound, like that of an animal that knows it's going to be put down, struggling even though it can't change its fate. I realize it's coming from me.
I stare once more at the canvas, just standing there. I'll be the only person who knows what's underneath all those prescription stickers. Another painting.
I pull the trigger.