Free Miracle in the Mist by Elizabeth Sinclair

garish smears of red, yellow, orange, purple, and black.
    Carrie's fingers gripped the brush handle as though it were a lifeline. Her clenched jaw set her teeth firmly against each other. Again and again she replenished the paint on her brush and continued to angrily apply more and more color to the canvas. With each brushstroke, she could feel the contact to her own skin, just as though each movement of the brush was a tiny razor blade scratching across her flesh.
    At last, she applied the final slash of paint. Her breath came fast. Her heart beat heavy in her ears. She stared at what she'd done.
    "Oh my God."
    The brush dropped from her numb fingers. Her hands flew to cover her mouth in astonishment. She couldn't believe she'd actually created the grotesque picture before her.
    Distorted, lightning-bolt-shaped splashes of bright red, orange, black, purple, and yellow cut brutally across the canvas. Black layered the top where a bright blue sky should have been.
    The geometric angles were sharp and pointed, the colors dark and foreboding. This painting was violent, angry, and cruel, and at the same time filled with stark fear, agonizing pain, and a deep, dark sense of hopelessness. She saw many things in this painting, but what Carrie didn't see was any of the love and softness Clara said Carrie had always put in her paintings.
    What was most disturbing could be found in the center of the painting—a man without a face. At his feet was a large, black hole, and just over his shoulder was a black-and-blue hand adorned with a wedding band and poised to push him in.
     
    ***
     
    Frank's steps came to a halt. Without realizing where his wanderings were taking him, he'd come back to the very spot in the garden below the window where he'd seen the woman the evening before. To his surprise and delight, a few feet from him sat that very woman, staring at a rather ugly painting propped against a rock at the stream's edge. From the paint tubes, brushes, and other paraphernalia scattered around her, he assumed she had been the artist.
    "Interesting painting," he said, slipping through the bushes and walking to her side to get a closer look at both the picture and the woman.
    "Oh!" She jumped backward, hand over her heart, and almost toppled over into the grass at his feet. He grabbed her forearm just in time to prevent her fall.
    She looked up at him. Breathless, he could do no more than stare. Though the picture appeared even uglier up close, the woman was one of the most beautiful creatures he'd ever seen. With eyes as green as emeralds and hair that reminded him of sleek, reddish-brown silk, he had a hard time dragging his gaze away, but he forced himself to and concentrated instead on the painting.
    "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you." When she was steady again, he drew his hand away. "I was just admiring your painting."
    " Admiring is hardly the word I would have used. It should be burned." Her voice slid over him, warming him and taking away all his trepidations about being there.
    Frank laughed. "Okay, so I was being polite." He studied the painting, tilting his head this way and that. "It's really quite… weird." Immediately, he regretted his words. He glanced at the woman to see if he'd offended her. "I'm sorry. That was rude."
    "Yes, it is weird." She pushed herself to her feet, picked up the painting, and held it at arm's length, then laughed. "And please don't apologize. That's probably the kindest thing anyone could say about it."
    He turned to look at her. Her green eyes came alive with suppressed laughter. Her creamy complexion had taken on a hint of a pink flush of embarrassment. A breeze picked up a few strands of her hair from behind her ear and whipped them across her cheek. His fingers itched to push the hairs back, and then trail his fingertips down her smooth cheek. Before he could act on the urge, she captured the loose hairs and tucked them back in place behind her ear.
    He gestured toward the canvas,