Monet’s Undead and Annoyed Wife
Camille rolled her eyes. In her frail arms she carried five paintings of various sizes, one of which stabbed her arm as she walked. Shuffling her feet along the dirt path, she kicked up dust and looked down as it covered her shoes. Camille’s eyes caught the corner of a painting but she darted away her vision quickly, she was not interested in looking at any part of them anymore. She made her way to a bright green bridge which arched over a pond littered with lily pads. As she reached the peak of the bridge, she laid down the paintings across the railing. One by one she walked passed them, pushing them over the edge and into the water, bothering the sleeping lily pads with ripples of anger. Camille’s hands shook slightly as she flipped one painting and then the next with distaste. Her eyes rolled again, she could still see the paintings at the bottom of the water. She would have to wait for the dirt to settle before they would be hidden from view.