Painter

The sun blazed fire.Beads of sweat intervened his staggering steps.Hot air scorched his skin and singed his hair.He fought on.Recovering his shoes from beneath the sand every time,trying so desperately to take another step.He had to make it to the next sand dune.For the hundredth time in the last minute,he clasped the tattered canvas flask at his hip.Like the ninety nine previous attempts,he found it contained no water,not even a drop.Sweat ran into his eyes,setting them on fire.He stopped to take a breath.And then,the sand storm arrived.The knees buckled,the flicker in his eyes died cold.The dune was two feet away.Oblivion beckoned him.Sahara had claimed yet another soul...



The white lifeless horizon stretched to eternity.The effect was numbing.Giant blocks of ice,sillhoutted against the clear sky loomed large.The land of eternal twilight,Antarctic,was hauntingly quiet.He trudged along,icy knives piercing his skin with tireless cruelty.The ice axe slipped out of his grip,he had lost his right thumb to the frost.The wind howled, sensing an easy prey.But he kept on his struggle,the hope fading slowly but surely.His skin took on a lifeless hue.The glaciers laughed in mirth;the time was here.He slipped,caught a crevice,the ice parted,opening the gate way to hell.The icy water gulped him without complaining,not a scream escaping his throats.No ripples showed on the surface.Snow gathered on the ice axe,lying a feet from the crevice,slowly but surely...



Heavy pantings echoed in the curtained room.The bodies moved in a perfect rhythm,not caring about the world.It was a game they were playing,the huntress hunting the tiger.Sweat drenched the mattress.Ancient instincts and animal odours drove them on.Brutal,fast and lithe was their movements.Fierce was their aggression.He was the tiger,the huntress struggling to conquer him.She scratched,shrieked,pounced,writhed...the tiger relented.A thousand stars exploded in his head...draining him of his manhood.As the orgasm filled her like a warm sea green liquid,she embraced her victim and took a deep breath.All was still for a minute.Then the Duchess stood up,paid the gigolo and departed.The tryst was over;the pleasure a thing of the past...



I slithered through the dry leaves.Moved past the ancient trees.I could sense my prey.I moved unhurriedly with languid grace,my silky skin reflecting the meagre sunlight that trickled past the leafy dome.And then,I saw him.I could feel his unease,the increased pulse.I knew he had sensed me too.And then he heard me.He looked about frantically,trying to locate me.He increased his pace.It was an easy kill.I could toy with him for a while.My slit tongue snaked out in pleasure.I rose to my full height,and met his eye.I was overwhelmed with the smell of fear he emanated.I spat on his face,venom piercing his skin like darts.He writhed on the ground.I am the King Cobra,I thought,emperor of the jungle;and then,delivered the killing strike...



Yeah I am a painter.I paint death.I paint desires.I paint lust.But do I paint a canvas flask full of water?Do I paint an ice axe still warm from a firm grip?Do I paint life?These questions have no answers,find them in my paintings.Yes,I am a painter indeed...