During an especially excruciating mid-summer day I encountered the medium of blood (the combination of congested bodies, an artist’s booth set ablaze by high sun, and the ominous perfume of blood made the experience all the more curious). The man in question, Utah resident Trevin Prince, was an engaging character to say the least, his means of expression even more so. Although the experience was unnerving, it pales in comparison to my short saga (love the oxymoron). Exercising the “Story” notion of my right brain here is an exact 50 word story on the notion of blood painting.
As she slipped into the artist's booth a metallic scent consumed her nostrils. Her eyes narrowed in on a painting of disturbing, sensual scarlet. ‘Blood’, she panicked, her knees buckling beneath her weight. She hysterically awoke to the same iron aroma, but this time, the blood was her own.