Canvas 6
By Dan Leicht
He sat there at work staring at the screen before him. Discrepant invoice. Discrepant invoice. There was no end to them. It took thirty seconds to change the price of an item, but the difference was thousands of dollars. How? Companies with big green greedy fingers wanted more and more.
He dreamed about being home. He dreamed about being in front of an empty canvas. White. Nothing. Blank. The canvas asked nothing of him and yet he wanted to give it everything he had. He wanted to smear paint. He wanted to grab the thickest brush he could find and fill it up with thick red mud and then pull its bristles back like a slingshot and flick spots of bright color onto the beautiful world he was concocting.
There in the sky was a meteor shower. Glowing splotches of red and orange came crashing down. Down. Down, The world was at peril.
A blue neck protruded from the ocean below. A dinosaur. The dinosaur looked to the sky and thought nothing of it. When is lunch? The ocean was growing hotter. More comfortable. This is cozy. Okay that’s fine. Now it’s getting too hot. Uncomfortable.
The meteors showered down. The dinosaurs were in search of cold. The dinosaurs needed ice (an ice age).
A cool breeze crept in from the left corner of the canvas.
“What are you working on?” asked his supervisor.
He shook his head and looked at the screen. There was a fan to his left blowing cool air against his face.
“Invoices. I think,” he replied. “Although there are much more pressing matters at hand.”
“Oh yeah?” said his supervisor. “Like what?”
“Like finding a winter jacket big enough for an alligator.”
