Making the first mark is a terrible joy, an unforgiving test, he thinks. Until that act, the paper is a white pre-world of every possibility. Afterwards, passages form and doors clang shut. It is the moment when the hawk hangs motionless in the sky before it stoops for the kill. And the universe holds a stilled expectancy. The brush trembles in his hand.
The sitter adjusts her position. “Are you alright?” she asks.
He wipes a bead of sweat from his brow. What if I’ve lost it?
“Yes,” he says brusquely, and dips the brush into the vermilion.
Friday fictioneers is a weekly challenge to write a 100-word story in response to a photo prompt. You can find other stories here. Congratulations on your fourth anniversary as Friday Fictioneers Facilitator, Rochelle, and thanks. The blank prompt this week was a challenge and a terrible joy.