Leslie Neal Saenz

Love Upon A Canvass Pale

The door opens with a soft slow sigh, reluctantly surrendering the room to my view. Candles by the score loosely arranged in scattered lots fill the room, parting only slightly to allow a vague serpentine path winding across the floor. Burning dimly the flames flicker in the breeze. An open doorway upon the far end of the room is sheathed by long sheer curtains that dance in the moonlight. Pale, blue-white light splashes through the doorway bathing one side of the room in a soft milky glow, while clashing desperately with the candle light. The ensuing shadows are tossed about the room wickedly in a vulgar demonic dance.