story

 The harmony of her white skin and her red dress made her look the most attractive. The woman took a sip of her red wine and flashed her husband a smile. Then she said, “I gotta go, aren’t you done yet?’ After one last stroke of his brush, the man said, “It was the most difficult one I made for there’s not a second thing that’s like you in this whole wide world.” The woman approached her husband and they kissed passionately then the artist said, “I already missed you babe, please don’t stay no more than 2 days as you said. Say hi to dad and your sis for me allright?” The woman in her red dress, she walked out the door without a single word. 

Two days later, the man still couldn’t hear from his wife. He called his wife a millionth time and the voice again said,” the person you’re calling…” The young man was so worried and the possibility that something might have become of her… then he decided to call her family and her father picked up the phone after a couple of tones, and regardless they never got on well, the man said, “Hey, I can’t reach Andrea for days now, she left to visit you when I last saw her and I can’t wait to show her her portrait I just finished, and… could you get her on the phone please?” “Are you fucking kidding me?” said the old man. “You stab her to death and now you’re callingg me and asking about Andrea you son of a bitch? Don’t you dare mention her name again or I’ll report you to the mental hospital you fucking, ruthless, asshole freakshow.’ The old man hung up. The artist’s face was ashen then he started to think back, and about how it could ever be possible. I saw her just two days ago, then I drew her picture and we made love. He went to the portrait of Andrea, turned it around and heard a signing voice “Bir gün belki hayattan, geçmişteki günlerden…” … Then he saw the knife stabbed in her heart and the blood thaat was dripping and the tears in her eyes… The harmony of green and red that he never saw before in any other painting. It was unparalelled, amazing, beautiful… Nevertheless, it was not how he made the portrait. There was something off with it. He then pulled the knife out of her canvas heart to face his very own reflection on cold steel.