Friday, 15 April 2011

My Fifth Friday Flash: Deadman's Paint

Deadman's Paint

"I don't want it!"

"You do!" said my friend Nigel.

"I don't know, it belonged to a dead man, you said?"

"Was of natural causes... so don't worry. Besides what choice do you have?"

It was true. Times had been tough if I was going to pay the rent I was going to have to produce a new painting soon. And wih no money for paints it was a blessing to say the least, but I still didn't like it! "Oh, alright man!"

"That's the spirit!" said Nigel passing the box of paints over. "I will be back on Friday to pick up the painting."

"Are you nuts?"

"That's when my next open show is... remember?"

"Ah, yes, I had better to get started," I said shutting the door.

I trudged up to my studio flat. I seemed to have very little energy lately, as if a bunch of sparklies were draining my life's blood every evening. Grabbing my almost cold mug of black coffee I took the sheet off my biggest easel. A blank canvas awaited. Downing the last bit of the black stuff I set up all my paints neatly and got my brushes ready. I dipped the brush in the green and slowly moved my hand to the canvas and then slowly brought it back.

"What the hell am I going to paint?"

I stood there for what seemed like twenty minutes before I cursed and threw the brush in a waiting glass jar of water. Fed up with myself I grabbed a half finished bottle of tequilla and fell face forward into my big comfy couch/bed. Squashing a couple of tubes of paint I had forgotten on the couch. Crying silent tears I shifted my face enough to get in a few good swigs of tequila. Soon it was empty. I let my only comforting friend, the darkness of sleep engulf me.

I woke up to brightlight. And Nigel walking into my room. I forgot he had a key.

"Hey, Nigel," I said groggily. "You know it's not Friday right?"

Oddly there was no reply, but that wasn't the weird part. I couldn't feel my body. I couldn't feel anything.

"John? Are you here? You didn't answer your bell?" Nigel, in his pin stripe suit proceeded to have a quick look around then he focused eyes on me. His eyes grew large. "What amazing work!"

"What work? I haven't even started yet!"

Nigel came closer. All of a sudden he picked me up and swung me around and placed me under his arm. "The gallery is going to love this!"

"Nigel! Nigel! Put me down!"

What was going on?

A few moments later he locked me in his boot. Was I dead? Was he going to put my corpse on display?

What seemed like an eternity later I saw light again. It was Nigel's brightly lit gallery. My vision focused. There was a mirror on the opposite wall. I could see myself. I could finally see myelf. I let out a scream that would make the shrillest of girls proud. I was trapped inside a painting. In the reflection I could see myself. I was about to be hanged from a noose, a bottle of tequilla clutched in one hand and a tube of paint in the other... There was a sign above the painting: "Art will be the death of me." I let out another silent scream.


  1. Yipe! Good thing I don't paint, I wouldn't want to borrow those!

  2. A little overwrought, but strong. I didn't notice any typos on a cursory reading. Welcome back to #fridayflash, Craig!

  3. Meh, forget about the errors, right now the content is what's having me all perturbed O_O That was so creepy, you made me feel so on edge, dread, and in such a short piece. Great work man, those writer pros are right, they always say the best writing is clear, precise and straight to the point. I really liked this :D

  4. Very creepy. I'll probably think about this next time I pull my paints out. Yikes!

    Great story.