The Last Day. ( Of His Life).

For the first time in years inspiration failed him. He tried to delve deep into his mind but even in the dark rescesses, where he usually found it most, seemed to want to keep their secrets. He stood for a full hour staring at the dull tones on the canvas. He was not a genius and didn't pretend to be but today the colours would just not come to him. He painted from imagination, had no muse and hated landscapes. He was bored and restless so eventually decided to leave the studio and walk the drab grey streets. He disliked walking and the streets never inspired him.
After an hour of sadness he entered a bar in the hope that a couple of drinks would help the colours return. The cocktails seemed to help slightly but the music the barman was playing was having the opposite effect. He felt a bit mixed up. He felt like this may be the last day of his life but also felt fine with it.
He was fully at ease and had blocked the music out when the most beautiful of women came and sat at his side. She asked no permission and said nothing. When the waiter took her order she asked for a coffee and a Scotch and it was then that he looked at her directly. And then he was no longer at ease with being dead. There were things to live for. Tall, slender, tanned and long brown hair. He dismissed the word demure when she downed the Scotch in one gulp. She took a sip of coffee, then turned to him and said, "Are you Jacob"?
"Yes I am". He felt his penis slightly stir. "Do I know you"?, he asked.
"I've seen your work somewhere".
"I doubt that very much indeed", he repied.
"Jacob, take me to your studio". This was not so much a question or request but a demand. He was a sucker for beauty eventhough his work did not reflect this so he agreed to her demand.

Once they arrived she sat on his dirty old couch and placed her hands on her smooth flat belly. She said nothing. He was also speechless but he studied her very closely. When she finally spoke she said, "I'm hungry".
"There's plenty of food in the fridge. I may be a poor artist but I love to eat". He still felt no inspiration but he did feel hungry.
"May I fix us something?", she said.
"Go ahead". He had no idea of what was happening.
After fifteen minutes she returned from the small kitchenette with two plates full of food. She may have been the most beautiful young woman he had ever seen but she was the most awful cook!! But out of politeness and lust he ate every morsal.
After finishing their meals she asked, "What's behind the covered canvas"?
"Something I began last night but I only got as far as grey's and black's".
"May I see"?
"Go ahead he said".
As she uncovered the painting neither of them were suprised to see that it was a painting of her! Naked and beautiful like it had been painted that morning. They stood for a while admiring what was proably one of his best peices of work before turning to eachother and falling into the most intimate of embraces. And then he knew what was happening.

They had eaten at the table but now she led him back to the dirty old couch and he knew he was going to be the passive one. He watched in wonder as she went down slowly. It seemed to last an age but when he finally came and eventhough it was beautiful it also felt close to the edge of trauma.

And at that moment he knew!!

This WAS the last day of his life!!!!

The fucking end!!