The handprint was painted in dried blood. It had congealed and set by the morning. It marked a passing, a suspended moment in time since gone. A reminder of human umbrage. It was stark and contrasted against the pale fading white of the wallpaper. There was no leading trail or gentle sliding off at the fingertips of the print. Set in blood in solid primitive form. I really had to get my kids some proper oil paints next time I was down at the art store. Perhaps on Saturday…
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