Lila’s life was painting. She loved the colors and smell of the paints, the transformation of a blank canvas into a scene, a story. She sighed with pleasure as she made her last stroke on the canvas. She stood back to examine her work and was dismayed. She had been painting a cheerful seaside sunset, what she beheld was nightmare.
The scene was now a fiery blaze. Was that an outline of her house she could detect? Did she smell smoke? Tendrils of smoke seeped through her basement studio’s door. She looked back at her painting. It looked like her original again now, except… She strained to look, a tiny figure danced, smiling, along the surf. It looked like her.
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