rough draft: less splatter, more Smearing

Less Splatter, more Smearing.

The colour was warm and comforting. I opened up the old, rusty can and reached my bare hands in. I lifted them up, letting the paint stream and then drip between my fingers. It engulfed and coated both of my hands, getting under my fingernails and coating my already polished nails. I crawled on my knees with the paint, smearing it all over the floor sloppily, slapping them against the walls over and over, dipping them over and over into the can and splatting the paint everywhere, rubbing it all around me, surrounding me in the warmth which was the paint.
Eventually, I had covered all four walls of the room, the ceiling and the floor. I dropped back down too my knees and realized that I had painted myself directly into the middle of the room’s floor. I was stuck there with what used to be, warm, comforting paint all around me, on me, everywhere. It began hardnening on my hands and arms. It dried onto my jeans and cracking on my face as i began to lose my smile. Watching paint dry seems to take forever. I gave up before it was fully dried. I stood up and walked through the gooey mess with my stocking feet. The paint soaked into my socks and stained them. The colour was so sickening. It revolted me.
I answered the knock at the door. No one was really there, but there was a familiar looking can of paint laying by the door. I picked it up, kissed the can and started to smile again. I popped open the top and again, revelled in the glorious warm, safe colour. It seemed to me at the time to be so different and less overwhelming as the last. I reached into the can like i had many times before this and hastly began covering the still drying walls with my hands, splatting and smearing it all over until i felt content.
This time I had painted myself into the far corner of the room. I had to wait again. This time i swore that i would sit and wait for it to dry. I closed my eyes for a few moments, for a few days, for a few weeks. When i opened them again, it had dried. It seemed like it had changed colour. It looked just like the first colour I had painted it. And the colour before that, and so on. I swore i wouldn’t let it bother me. the colour. But the more i looked around the more i hated it. The more ugly it got.
The colour made me panic. It overwhelmed me. I decided I had to leave. I had to get out of the room, away from that colour. I ran for the door. I wiggled the handle but the door wouldn’t open. The paint had filled in the cracks and made the door stick closed. I couldn’t get out. The door casing had entrapped me. i couldn’t get out of the cell i had created for myself. I started chipping at teh paint to find change and peace and comfort. But each layer was the same. the fumes began to get to me. It made me dizzy and weak. i tried to close my eyes to escape but i couldn’t. My eyes were dry now. I was drained. I wasn’t going to cry. I couldn’t anyway. I dropped down to the floor, surrounded by the colour that seemed to soak into my pores. What used to be so safe and comforting was surrounding me and making me weep. I rocked back anf forth and held my head in my hands. The paint couldn’t comfort me anymore. My hands couldnt hold up my head. I layed on my back to get more air in my dried my lungs and began to shake. My insides burned. The pressure in my chest was unbearable. the buttons on my blouse popped open one by one and left my bare breasts bulging upon my trembling chest, revealed for the first time to the awfully covered walls. My thighs were quivering and my hands grasped and pawed at the air around me, over and over. My whole body quaked as my arms reached up to the cracking ceiling. Paint chips fell from above into my open gasping mouth and horrified eyes. my toes were stretched out and stiff, like the whole of my body. I was totally helpless. I was totally surrounded, but totally alone. A gust of wind blew from the cracks in the wall and blew my skirt up over my head. It gracefully flew up into the air and drifted down like a feather to the floor by my head. The walls were caving in. My skin my bared to the torturous walls, i was completely vulnerable.
My body began to tense up even more. My skin began to shrink and stretch on my body. It slowly began to rip off of my bones. My heart exploded.
Blood spattered all over the walls and the floor and the crackling ceiling.
I stood up when i awoke. i stepped out of the room and looked into teh nearest mirror. I touched the splattered blood on my face. It was deep and rich and thick. Each bubble of blood was beautifull, new and rejuvenating. It was the most amazing colour i had ever seen. and it was once IN ME. It brought breath to my lungs and tears to my eyes. I walked back into the room. It was standing perfectly. My blooded was splatted over the walls, and the original paint was still there, just slightly covered up by my new shade. It was glorious. I curled up on the floor naked, and sang myself to sleep.

Err… I used a paint brush and roller when I painted my room.

Shit! I never thought of that! If only I would have known.


Damn it. :smack: Sorry for sounding so snarky, I didn’t notice the ‘rough draft’ bit. :smack: :smack: :smack: :wally:

What’s the draft for?

Well i was just writing the other day, and i havn’t really gone over it yet to revamp it, so i thought that i would post it to see how terribly written it was… hehe