the picture

Basking in the warmth of a winter's conflagaration, I watch the ashes fall as snow. All around me, anguished cries resonate - the hopes and dreams of a village ablaze. I smile, revealing my appreciation for this beautiful work of art to anyone who would care to see it. What could be more triumphant than a proud orange glow emblazoned onto that pitch black sky - a banner raised for all to see, what could be more delicate than the deep red of blood splattered on the fine white snow. The aggression of Man against the innocence of Woman. I had succeeded. This was my masterpiece. It was a classic Picasso.