Morgan Cartwright

Deep Red Eyes

Kent stood in the foyer. Across from him was a large painting hanging on the wall sandwiched between two curving staircases leading up to the landing of the second floor. He stood there gazing at the picture. First he surveyed the frame, it was a single solid piece of walnut with Celtic designs etched in gold and dark green running around the edges he did not understand the design nor the meaning behind it, yet he had to admit that it was appealing to his sight. The painting itself seemed to be a single sheet of velvet stretched taught. He looked towards the center of the picture to see that it depicted a woman sitting in a rocking chair. She was beautiful, youngish he guessed around mid-thirties, and it was hard to tell but using the rocker as a scale he put her at, probably, around five-foot-nine and one-hundred twenty pounds. Next he took in her attire, she was dressed in an ankle-length black dress with a dark red, crimson maybe, lace trim. Her long pure white hair flowed over her shoulders but did not obscure her face, he found it oddly attractive paired with her young features. Her expression was one of sorrow, artfully exemplified by the arch of her brow and the tilt of her perfect thin lips. But there was something deeper there. Kent continued to study the painting hoping to understand what else it was he was seeing. Was it something in those dark red eyes? Perhaps, but alas he would not solve the mystery today.