4. Cam
CAM
H eavy thumping bass vibrates the old, worn wooden planks under my bare feet.
Radiates up my legs.
Through my stomach.
Across my chest.
Down my arms.
My fingers twitch.
I tighten them around the brush in my hand.
The music flooding the studio throbs in my ears, pulsates through my blood, the deep melodic chords urging me to concentrate on it and what I’m doing, rather than the demons plaguing me tonight. Old ones that threaten to drag me back where I’ve fought so hard to get away from.
Tilting my head, I examine the massive blank canvas laid out on the floor in front of me.
Flawless.
Pristine.
Too. Damn. Perfect.
The image materializes in my mind.
A quick flash of exactly what it’s meant to be.
I thrust the brush into the black paint…
And give in to what it demands.