He ran his paint stained fingers over the scars on his chest. They reminded him of the pleasure she gave him. The raised flesh was soft like her lips, and the memory of the demeaning words came from her lips made him hard. But a rush of sadness formed a stabbing pain in his heart.

He got out of bed and moved towards his studio, brought the half smoked weed with him. Continued to work on the painting, he wanted to finish it by dawn. he had already completed the sketch, and the lilac, pink and white windflowers covered most of the canvas. The final touch was to work on the detail of the ugly weathered window where the viewer would see the field of windflowers from. He might go over the field of windflowers with a wash of rain, might not. His mind was scattered by the earlier encounter with her.

He took a drag of the weed, not sure why he smoked it, it had no effect on him whatsoever. She hated him smoking. Was it the rebel in him, or being spiteful, or making a statement of his new found freedom, or an attempt to distract himself from thinking of her? Without any warning, he was all choked up by the lump in his throat trying to move up to release into salt vapours.

Author: Cassa Bassa

🇦🇺🇨🇳 inquisitive, observant, witty, a thinker, was a misfit child 😊

10 thoughts on “Scars”

  1. Nice! This feels like lots of backstory there, waiting to come out. Love the ending how he gets all choked up twice over. It’s a powerful idea. Plus, that’s interesting he smokes weed, even when it gives him no pleasure. Feels like so much more to come from these characters.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Great point, I didn’t think of that practically. I don’t smoke weed so I don’t know. I was thinking he was doing something not good for him but he did it because he could. It reflects him as a person not taking control of things and not making good decision for himself.


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