Distorted Profiles

I’ve hung my portrait in a tower, from the height of the staggered stones, the reflection bends on the sea, waves of light erode that bastion.

On the throne atop the tower I stare at the painted portrait: elongated brush strokes in refined oils deigned my features, the walnut frame contained a mirror captured by imagination. Though I add rich browns and velvet reds something is amiss; over my shoulder the tower bends on the sea.

The waves of light bash the walls, dulling and sun-bleached rocks; cracks rip open, the foundation peels chunks of the tower tumble to the depths, the painting tilts, the axe strikes the tree.

Observing the face in the mirror, I turn, calculating the angle, stretching my eyes from head to foot. I lift the brush; “Perhaps dazzling purple to the coat, a dash of ruby to the decor.”

A step backward to take it all in A step backward, enlarging my view A step backward, over a jagged precipice falling through the deteriorating floor.

Climbing stairs flash above, the spiral widens all the bricks laid, all the steps ascended off the salty blue the light’s spray stings green water engulfs and as the tower topples I sink into darkness.