I gaze intently at his still and quiet beauty; his pencil-thin brow, his crimson lips filled with passion, his eyes as mysterious as the afterlife, his jaw immaculate and strong... He is the portrait of perfection in every aspect. No, he doesn't have burns on his face, blisters that ooze ceaselessly if touched improperly. No, he doesn't have hands as rough as sandstone, nor a conscience burdened with the shattered bones and screams of his foes. But he also doesn't have the Medal of Honor or a medal for bravery, either. I steal one last glance from the painting, then smirk and turn to push my wheelchair out the door of the art museum.
(100 words)
Fantastic work, Zade. It reminds me a bit of The Picture of Dorien Gray. Is he looking at his former self?
ReplyDeleteOh wow, poignant and unexpected. Utterly beautiful as well. It is so nice to see pride not actually involved in the MC's appearance. Well done.
ReplyDeleteSuch heartfelt imagery.
ReplyDeleteNice.
HMG
Man, you are so good! And thank you for the lovely comment on my lust story!! :D
ReplyDeleteYou really know how to end your pieces. I'm thinking you would be a master at ending chapters in a novel. What say ye?
ReplyDeleteWow - so punchy - so thought provoking. You have a way with words...
ReplyDeleteReally original twist on this. I love the ambiguity in here and the values this explores too. Brilliant job!
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