put on your war paint {P/R/C/E vs 4 Cipactili}

I painted until there wasn't any space left on the canvas. I painted through the anthem, not bothering about the faces that flashed in the sky or how there were 4 dead. Four. I painted until dawn and the heat came back to haunt me. And then my brush started drawing on my hands, a non-coherent splattering of every color I had, paint sticking itself to my arms and hands and face and legs and feet. My shirt was no longer a neon purple but a whole array of colors, something that would the effects of a rainbow puking on me or a unicorn shitting on me, but I could only revel in the feeling of paint sticking to me again. I missed the feeling of holding my brush with a purpose. Soon I lose all control and begin to poor the paint on my body, feeling it in my hair against my scalp, hardening down my spine, crusting in-between my toes, making it's way into my mouth where I am forced to spit it out, gasping for air when drench my head and face in a blue and yellow. When I blink my eyelashes are heavy and when I lick my lips I taste nothing but acrylics. Paint is the only thing that has never hurt me. I want it to know I love it with all my heart. I smile when I raise my hand, watching the paint drip to the ground. My smile turns to laughter when I stare at the canvas, a whole new world created on the white. A world to die for. I put a sticky brown hand print in the middle of it before grasping at it's edges and gathering my things into one big pile in my arms, colors contaminating everything I touch.

I stumble along through the sun, willing the pain everywhere to quit ruining my spirits, the paint beginning to crack in places, rivers of skin and cloth appearing beneath the yellow and red and blue islands plastered across my body. I press the mouth of the bottle to my lips, letting the burn of the alcohol bring yet another form of familiarity upon me. If I close my eyes, I could be at home in my room right now. I tell myself not to drink to much, to savor small sips and not glug the whole bottle down, to save it for later when everything hurts 10 times worse, but soon everything is front of me is starting to blur and I am no longer walking in a straight line. The pain that had been consuming me fades to nothing more than pin pricks of a sort of tickling sensation all over my body and the hiccups and giggles that pass my lips are not mine but the wine's. My mind starts to wander back home, my feet shoved into high heels and my face caked in make-up, men buying me drinks, dancing with me, their hands running over me, eyes greedy and filled with hunger - but then again, mine were too. I lick my lips and taste them, the various men. I giggle again, biting my lip as I continue to stumble along, watching as a shiny gold building approaches in the distance.

My feet carry me along, the canvas balancing on my head, paint dripping from my body, as the smell of old air, dust, paint, and alcohol consume me. I fall into the wall so many times I cannot count, my feet refusing to take me anywhere. But my mind is traveling, bringing me stumbling into the kitchen. I blink, my world blurring before me, as someone appears before me. Multiple someones. I stare for a moment longer, their voices whispers. but I can see they are looking at me, asking me a question, waiting for me to answer them. "Whaaat?" I cup my hand around my ear, the neck of the bottle nearly slipping from my hand. But they don't speak any louder. I step closer. "Who er you guyyyys?" I blink at them, pointing in their direction, but they all begin to turn away from me. That's when I notice the bright colors of Justice's outfit, the scar along Francesca's neck, the jewelry and silver in Celeste's hand, the skirts and heels that Kirk wears when no one is looking, the smirk on Savoy's face and his chin held high in the air, the skipping of Meryem with her distant eyes. And Urbane - my mom - looking back at me, holding out a hand. Just like when I was little. Just like when she saved me that day at the orphanage. I start to run towards them, trying to catch up. But my feet are unpredictable, my brain so confused, that I trip and fall dropping everything but the bottle in my hand. The air leaves me as I look up to find every single one of them has vanished. I scrunch my face, and turn to find a huge gold bowl shimmering at my feet, red paint spattered across it where my feet stumbled upon it. I push myself up, cupping the bowl on my hands and holding it between my legs. I look at my reflection in the gold, distorted and misshapen - mirroring my life as a whole. But I giggle because my cheeks look a chipmunks and my eyes look larger than walnuts. I raise the bowl to my face and scream at the mirror me. "Hey you! Aren't cha just da purdiest girl I haveee - EVER seen?!" She's smiling at me and it makes me giggle to know that she likes me as much as I like her.

I carry the bowl away with me, leaving everything but the wine bottle behind in the darkness as I walk into the room full of nothing but shimmering gold. I stop and stare for a moment, taking it all in. Six is for gold. I hold the bowl out in front of me, spinning around wildly, stumbling into a pile of coins and cups. "Ya see how niiice this placce - is? Almorst as purdie as you, ya painted masterpieeeece." I hear clattering around me but ignore it, sure it is only me making noise. Or maybe an angel trying to make music. I sit down again, crossing my legs and holding the bowl in my lap. I smile at the painted girl looking back at me. How did she get so beautiful? So smart and wonderful? I hiccup as I grab a gold cup, jewels sparkling at it's base and brim. I run my thumb over them, tiny shards of light erupting from each one as I twirl the stem of the stem of the cup between my fingers. For a moment, I remember my room back home, filled with endless constellations and points of light. I remember the sparkling of the little orphan girl's eyes as she tells me she loves me after only a few hours of being with her. I remember the sand on the beach and the moon making the lake sparkle. I remember the fireflies dancing across my backyard. I remember the sparkle of my earrings and necklaces. I remember the lights at the club flashing and spinning. I remember staring at my reflection and seeing sparkling eyes filled with hope, not despair. I blink again and poor wine into cup after cup until the bottle is empty and I can stare through it like the pirate stares through his telescope. I stare through the bottle and into the golden bowl.

"Arrrrrgggg, matey! Yee see here we've dern found the burr'd treasure!" I move the bottle and stare into the bowl again, the girl looking back at me with the same smile she has worn this entire time. I set the bottle aside and grab tow of the cups filled with wine. "I drink to that!" And then I down one cup and then the other, tipping my head back, some of the contents dribbling down my chin. My head is swimming, imagining stars scattered across the ceiling and fireflies bouncing around and my feet. But when I reach for them they aren't there. Real things never come to me. For a moment I think I will cry, seeing the sad face of the girl in the bowl, but then I am downing another glass and chucking it across the room in joy.

And then I am looking up as someone else steps into the room of gold, holding a bag. I smile and scramble to my feet, running my hand through my hair that is still sticky with paint. I recognize the face and walk closer to him pointing at the bag. 'I know you wannna keep me fo-eva but I dun think I'll fit in dat bag, Mr. Keeeeeni." He moves so fast that I don't have anytime to move before snakes are tackling me to the ground. I scream and try to throw them off, but only a few fall away. Then some are latching onto me, clamping onto my body. Nothing really hurts, only tickles. I begin to laugh as their tiny jaws clamp down harder on my skin and blood starts to mix with the paint on my arms and legs. I tear them off as I scramble backwards, scooping up the empty bottle and wearing the bowl on my head like a helmet, swinging the bottle through the air as a slash of light slashes before my eyes, connecting with my stomach. And then the paint is catching fire around me, consuming me in a giant explosion of heat and flames. That's when I begin to scream. The flames licking up towards my face. I bat at my bleeding, flaming stomach with the bottle in my hand, screeching as the flames sober me enough to figure out the obvious. I am burning alive. The thing I love most is killing me. I fall into the cups of wine around me, spilling most of the precious liquor on the floor. For a moment I think I might have put out the flame, the drinks spilling across the flames, but then they are starting up again, spreading faster across my body.

I make myself attempt to think, to to do something other than scream and roll on the ground. I grab the bottle and the bowl, slamming the bottle over and over again at the flaming girl in the bowl. The bottle shatters, glass filling the golden bowl, distorting the pretty girl even more than the flames. In a panic and through the roar of the flames in my ears I whip the glass into the room, cursing when my hair catches aflame.

I don't even have time to look at the results before I am writhing on the ground, trying to find my way out of the flames.

But there is no way out.

I am dead. I am burning alive.