The fox spiraled towards the girl with the violin. They were both fluid and smooth in hues of vermillion. The girl's bow swung back across the strings as the fox leapt. Her playing continued undisturbed by the flowers that were springing from the wound in her arm, and the fox stood upon its hind legs and began to dance with the peacock. The flowers became a black and white tiled floor, with the red fox and girl and the blue peacock sprawled across it in great leaking stains. A limp hand was lying in the puddle that was the violin. Its nails were pink, and the skin tone dark. The fingers twitch, swirling the violin into the peacock and forming a brilliant violet oboe that the hand grasps and brings to its owner's mouth. He is dark and wild, in an aquamarine suit and blue hair. The notes that leave the oboe turn to seagulls in midair, and they soar into the tiles in a myriad of colors. They swoop around the musician and then turn in towards him, rending his flesh from which spring blood. His blood leaks across the floor and dissolves his oboe. The colors separate, forming a violinist and a fox, with a peacock in the background.

The nurse plucks the paintbrush from my twitching fingers, and painting hour is over.