Each day he stood there, looking, trying to see it. Nothing emerged from the canvas. A vast blankness confronted him, mocked him. His tools lay unused. Tubes of paint, like overfed caterpillars sat on a small table, the seal round their cap unbroken. Beside them, a pile of brushes their sable tips as fine and glossy as the day he had bought them.
Still the canvas remained empty.
In his mind he could see Her. The soft curve of her cheek, the tiny wrinkles around her eyes. He had tried to capture it, but every time he stepped into this room he could go no further. His vision was becoming dimmer, each day a small part of her flaked away, soon he would be left with nothing. No memory of her face, no painting in his mind.
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Inspired by untitled bu Flckr user Tangent. That’s it. That’s all I got. Nano is going to be painful this year. If you want to see what other more talented folks might have gotten out of this you can check out the usual suspects: The Gurrier, Tea and Cakes, Chris, Linus, Tadmack, LittleGoat and Aquafortis.

Far too much like my own brief foray into painting… “tubes like overfed caterpillars” and all. I like the image of a memory flaking away.
Comment by TadMack — September 17, 2006 @ 7:47 pm
That sounds a lot like my experience for this week too. Except with beer and tears instead of paint.
Comment by Donal — September 18, 2006 @ 7:20 pm
Somewhere between Haiku and a short story, this story was quite moving. You’ve captured emptiness, loss, fear of loss, inadequacy, and longing.
Thanks.
Comment by David — September 18, 2006 @ 7:45 pm