She remembers his shirt was red, like the paint on his canvas. He had offered to show her more of his work, wanting her opinion. Then nothing. Red behind her eyes. She awakened in a windowless cell. She tried scratching her way out. Now her fingertips were red. She wondered if he’d paint her.
Red (microfiction)
Published by GhoulieJoe
I'm a mom who loves horror movies, the '80s, and the library. I write about the above three topics more than is healthy. I've got reviews, listicles, lil nonfiction pieces, and random bits of whutnot. I also included some pretentious as hell microfiction (don't worry, it's at the bottom). Because horror is life and vice versa. View more posts
GhoulieJoe 