Gas

Wintersweet

The painting on the wall flickered, alive with the dancing flames of the gas fireplace. The man sat on a chair. His attention was on the geometric face. He had never intended it to come out like that but he thought it was beautiful. He cleaned his hands with a colorful cloth. She hated that. She hated the smell too. She hated when he sat in the living-room in his “rags”, as she called his painting overalls. When she saw the painting, she wanted to burn it. His nails had red underneath, and the painting was still on the wall.

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