Canvas
When he first arrived on Fleet Street, the canvas was of smeared oils and messy shades of grey in the form of water color. The dark, harsh pencil lines covered in black paint in attempt to cover the mistake made.
The painting that was once full of lively water colors coated in a thick layer of white.
The day, he arrived, things began to change. The idea to bake pies out of humans added a touch of purple and navy to the work of art. Soon, the killings began. Various shades or red were splattered on, while a touch of yellow was added to remind him of his Johanna and his Lucy.
His work continued, as strokes of mahogany were neatly put in as a representation of his landlady's wild hair. Just a tad of sea blue was spread across the canvas as a symbol of the sea. The midnight blue finger-painted on for the late night talks, and only more red for the blood spilled.
Things were beginning to look lively, until the day he found out his wife was still alive. Clusters of black oils sat unevenly spread filling the lengths of the painting. The anger, quite clear throughout the rough night of the happening showed through the blues and yellows. But before he could pick up the right shade of red, she had her pencil, delicately drawing out the lines to the reasons why she lied to him.
He did not forgive her right away.
As he looked back at the unfinished art, the gold strokes that hurt him so much to paint on looked grey in the black oils. Finally, the judge came. A dark, filthy grey was added to the rest, before it was completely covered in red.
When all was done, she sang to him about the sea. Dots of white scattered amongst the midnight blue for the midsummer night. White seagulls drawn on with the stormy ocean waves. It was finished now.
They stepped back to admire the masterpiece they had created.
Their eyes jumped over the sloppy lines and simply saw brilliance. "Let's get out of here." He says to her, and quietly she agrees. Yet, before she takes a step out of the door, he turns back, adding a final stroke of orange-red, allowing the flames to devour the corpses' lying before their feet.
With that said and done, they turn their backs to their masterpiece, glowing almost viciously in the bright fire. Somehow, they wouldn't see this. Neither of them dared to glance back.
Why would they when somewhere far from London, a blank canvas awaited them?