That day

That day, he showed me art. He placed portrait after portrait and I looked at them. Somewhere mid-session, I learnt that when you see art, you react verbally: talk high of it or not. It did not happen with me, I only looked. And then I picked the ones I liked.

...

The parchment was quite like canvas. It sucked in paint, more paint. It absorbed nearly everything I blotted it with and then it could not.

It dried by morning next. I was up every other hour to check if it had.
A little cotton swab held as much red as it could and gave it all to the parchment.
Soon, my hands weren't just black.

I only had two colours.