I brought the red blossom near my nose, but instead of the sweet alluring smell of rose, the nauseating smell of rust infiltrated my nostrils. A thought crossed my mind, maybe a rodent was killed by its predator and is now left rotting. I didn't mind the revolting smell lingering in my art room. I stared at my canvas and indulged in the eerie atmosphere.
I have always loved roses, but I have an addiction to the red ones. They said a red rose symbolizes love yet underneath that warmth hid the anguish.
It wasn't long ago when I saw the world beautifully stained with red and I learned to cherish it.
I gazed at my art composition lovingly, my canvas is smudged with red, brown, and rusty pigments, making it seems unearthly elegant. I dipped my brush on the palette filled with different shades of red, but I chose the brightest among the colors.
I spend hours, days on my artwork. It depicts a place painted in red, my home. Intricate fragments are missing in this canvas and yet my pigment did not suffice.
My heels were clinking against the marbled floor as I approached the storage room. I opened the door and a stench of deteriorating corpses stunned my sense of smell. I filled the palette with a thick portion of blood and brought it back to my unfinished work. I spent a few minutes enhancing the details on the canvas and at last, I finished my masterpiece titled 'HOME' where I painted hell with red roses.
A smile was formed on my lips when I caressed the roses on the canvas, depicting a perfect image of home and family. An abrupt feeling of grief flashed through me while reminiscing how happy we were but it ended when I took your lives away. I apologize, mother and father, I loved you. And now, I used you to create this painting that I adore.
