The Sanguine Canvas
Bloodstains on the empty spaces of a lost life.

It was raining. Andrew shook his head, sending water flying from his mane, but it made no difference, the rain continued to dribble down and in seconds he was just as wet as he'd been before.

“Wish I'd remembered to get an umbrella,” he muttered to himself. He peered ahead and blinked water from his eyes. He had nearly half a mile left to cross before reaching his apartment. He sighed. “While I'm wishing I could wish that I had a job closer to home. Or that the trains still ran. That'd be nice, to be able to take a train.” He sighed again and lowered his head, the water dripping off of his long cervine muzzle.

He was a fairly pathetic sight, his white-feathered wings folded closely to his sides, his head hunched, his black, slightly curly, lion-like mane plastered to his neck, his large ears pinned back in distaste. He wore a black trench coat that was not quite up to shedding the rain and his hooved feet were bare on the decaying sidewalk. His footsteps echoed hollowly, muffled only a little bit by the rain. This city had not died, as some larger cities had, but it had not been left unscathed by the calamities of recent years and the population was less than it once was. Between that and the lateness of the hour Andrew was alone on the street, only rarely passing another pedestrian. Even more rarely a car drove by. There weren't that many cars on the road these days, they were luxuries beyond the reach of most, but there were still a few.

Andrew eyed each person he encountered with a certain wariness. He was not as timid as some, but he knew there were predators loose on these streets. And not just those with ancient predatory blood, there were some these days who actively hunted their sentient fellows. He shivered at the thought, and shied away from a tall canine who passed in the other direction. The man looked at Andrew curiously for a moment, but did nothing more as he walked past.

The rain let up when Andrew was a bit more than half way home, but he was still dripping when he stepped inside his little apartment. He resisted the urge to shake off, he'd only get water all over his things. Instead he hung his coat on the inside of the door and went into the bathroom. He turned on the shower, and stripped off while the water warmed.

Under the hot flow he tipped his head back and sighed. Another day of soul-crushing drudgery. I don't know how much longer I can stand this. But I don't know what other options I have. I wish that this rain would at least let up. It's rained all week. I'm tired of coming home wet and cold.

The hot water turned tepid all too soon and with another sigh Andrew turned it off. He shook off, sending water flying, then wrung out his long tail and shook water from his wings. He drew the curtain aside and reached for a towel, rubbing himself down until he was only slightly damp.

He stood in front of the mirror and regarded himself for a while, then sighed again. He looked like a freak. He had a deer's face, but with just the one antler, and the fangs... Of course fangs were completely normal for muntjaks. Maybe he could move to Taiwan. Then he shook his head. Idiot. You don't speak the language. You don't know anything about it other than a few stories from Grandpa. And anyhow, muntjaks don't have wings, or tails, and they have paired antlers. You'd still look like a freak. And you'd still be a scrawny geek.

He resisted the sudden urge to hit the mirror and left the bathroom. He walked out into the main room, which was also the bedroom. He looked over at the tiny kitchen. He almost didn't want to bother eating. But his stomach rumbled and he decided he probably should at least try. He considered the contents of the fridge. A bag of pre-packaged salad greens still seemed to be good, so he tore it open and dumped half the contents into a bowl. He crumbled feta cheese over the top and added dressing. I guess I can be glad of that much, I'm not stuck with the strict vegan thing like Mom was... He pushed the memory of his long-gone kirin mother out of his mind and focused on the moment, forking up a mouthful of salad, enjoying the taste of the cheese. When the bowl was empty he left it in the sink with a clutter of other bowls and plates. I'll do the dishes later...

He flopped down on the bed and looked up at the ceiling. He was deliberately avoiding looking at the easel that stood near the foot of the bed. The canvas on it was completely blank. After a long time he glanced over at it, then turned away again. He hadn't painted in... he started counting, realized it had been more than a month, and tore his mind away from it. Maybe I'll do the dishes tonight after all...

But just getting up off the bed seemed like too much effort. So he lay there, looking at nothing, hearing the rain patter outside. Eventually he pulled the blankets up over himself, and put his head on the pillow, but it was several hours more before he managed to fall into a fitful sleep.