I want to paint – The feeling of my dark brown hair wafting in the wind as the scream of lost souls flock into my ears like seagulls before storm, the feeling of power as my fingers hover over the trigger, ready for my victim to drop like an autumn leaf from an oak tree, the emptiness of the motionless bodies, scattered across the floor like the crumbs of a chocolate cake.
I want to paint – The angriness in my veins as I take my first steps onto the beaches of Dunkirk. The sadness in my eyes as my friend drops dead on the floor. How scared I feel on the way to battle .
I want to paint – My home, so happy, humble and bright. My children, Jane and Thomas, racing through gorgeous, green fields under cloudless, beautiful blue skies, my wife’s face beaming with a smile stretching from ear to ear.
I want to paint the end of this war.