poly_chromatic | 048 x 840 // video/action // having a heart

[ She hadn't burned the portrait. She'd put it in a closet with a cloth covering it, facing back into the shadows. It wasn't out of sight out of mind, it was just out of sight because he was still burned into her mind and woven into her skin. He had stolen her heart and her soul and given her nothing in return.

The portrait is lying in the middle of her beach front flat, face up towards the ceiling. That's where Carla found it this morning when she came home to feed the dog and she's trained the camera on it to give herself a layer of distance from the scene. There are purple smears of dried blood marring the painting, a puddle where the man's hands clasp together. ]

This isn't cute.

[ Her voice is low, tinged with self-mockery. Peanut approaches to investigate the scene, but Carla nudges him aside with her foot, leaning down to heft up the canvas. The three of them relocate outside into the chaos-ridden streets.

You'll find the thing slashed and burning if you happen to walk by. ]

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[For the first time while they're speaking, Saya feels a spark of understanding. She might not understand much -- having no past has that downside -- but she knows that feeling intimately. At least, if it's what she presumes Carla means; she's not so good with assumptions, either.]

Do you hate him?

Yes.

[Carla doesn't have to really pause to think about that. She hates him. He had ruined her life and he had twisted her into loving him and then refused to return or accept or acknowledge it. She had died on his floor and he had dragged her back only to refuse her? She hates him. She adores him. He was everything in her world for years. She still longs for him though whether the desire is to kill him or to hold him... she doesn't know.]

He's a bastard.

[Something about her tone is irritatingly familiar, but like a spot in her peripheral vision it vanishes whenever Saya tries to examine it.]

Why did you have it, then? [The question is inflected as if she anticipates what the answer will be.]

I painted it.

[Because he's always there. And Carla is very good at such not-answers.]

Oh. [That's not as difficult to understand as one might think. Or at least, Saya can fit it into the context of her own life, even if it's the complete wrong idea.] Maybe you should paint what you wish he was.

[What she wishes he was... Once upon a time, she hadn't wanted anything but sex and attention from him. Then he had ruined her and she had wished for his love. Then his suffering. Sometimes his death. Carla stares at the sky blankly for a moment, the jut of her neck sharp, hair streaming down her back, almost an arched stretch. Then she sags back down, staring at the ground.]

I just wish he was gone.

[She sends another squirt of lighter fluid at the painting.]

[Saya looks from her to the burning painting, back again. Shrugs inelegantly. He's as gone as anyone can make him, with that painting going rapidly up in smoke.]

If you had the chance to forget all about him, would you take it? [She's -- curious. Selfishly curious.]

[If she had the chance... Then she would be broken with no understanding of why. Would that be worse. Would it be blissful, to have slipped the knowledge that she let someone else break her. She could hold only herself accountable again, feel unsnared. She shudders.]

Why not...

[It's still not a wish she's ready to make.]

[Saya nods, still staring at the fire. No easy answers, but she was hoping maybe it wasn't so complicated as she finds it.]

Well... good luck. [With... whatever. Forgetting, or something.]

048 x 840 // video/action // having a heart

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