Tomorrow will be different

I dropped into the purple suede armchair. I let out a sigh and closed my eyes, the tranquility after a job well done was coursing through my body. In front of me, taped to the wall was a painting dominated by the color orange. Simple brushstrokes filled that small canvas that together with a white tone made a jumble that did not seem to make sense.

I dedicated my free time to wait for that painting to change, for the tones to become brighter, duller, uglier, more beautiful, but to date it remained the same as always.

I closed my eyes, leaned my head on the back of the chair and began to meditate my steps, I did not want to ruin my morning by having left some pending.

In short flashes I remembered. After finishing the job I returned home, left all my clothes at the entrance, naked I climbed the stairs to the shower. I did my best to remove the dirt between my fingernails, to be able to clean the long wound I had on my thigh, what can I say, an occupational hazard. I tended to the wound that was starting to bleed again and then sat down in the comfortable armchair.

I came to my senses, stood up and walked slowly to the kitchen. I took out the only mug in the cupboard, it had more than twenty years with me, it was chipped and no longer as shiny as before. What was different between that mug and my painting?

The same question always embraced me, but what could I expect, there were reasons why it was impossible to change, that painting was just like me. As much as I tried to stop being that man, that criminal, that damned murderer, I could not help but feel that desire, that desire for blood, to see the last breath of a person.

I left the cup on the kitchen counter and walked to the window. The sky had a greenish tint, sunrise would be in a few hours.

I walked to the entrance and put all the possible evidence in a plastic bag that I would have to get rid of in a while. I went back to the living room, the purple armchair had a mark right where I had been sitting for years. I took a last look at the orange paint, it was still the same as a few minutes ago, I smiled, the stupid paint was mocking me, just like always, I returned to the entrance and left my house. I don't know, maybe tomorrow would be different.

Photography by Ludwig van Borkum