She lay there on the clean white bed sheet, freckle-less. The bed-sheet was freshly ironed and she held it to her cheeks. The warmth gave her goosebumps. For the first time in many months, she felt safe. Safe. A tear drop rolled on from her right eye to her pink cheeks. As she looked around, she took the revolver from the table. She lay again on the bed, straight. Her curly black hair holding her tiny universe between her ears. She stared at the ceiling, her only witness. She took the revolver to her forehead and counted the times she was happy. She pulled the trigger. Like new flowers sprouting from the wet earth, her blood spread onto the white canvas; modern art.