Sunday Scribblings

This week's word is Art:

Blood streamed from my body like a faucet, splattering haphazardly into puddles on the legal brief scattered beneath me. Her expression was a mismash of disgust, anguish and fear. As she clinched the bed frame for support, she struggled for words, but nothing cognizable emerged, instead came of stream of gasps, mutterings and deep breaths. I laughed curiously, confused by her failure to grasp the meaning behind my masterpiece. “Do you not see it,” I pleaded. . . . “It represents the cost we have paid for this godforsaken profession.” The tears convinced me that she did not. I had missed my audience, and again, I realized that this, art, was not for me.