“A blood red sky needs blood,” Johnson said to himself while the rest of the team watched in awe as the sun set.
He listened attentively as ‘the voice’ gave instructions. He had a clean record, and wanted it clean till the end.
Armed with the directives, he walked away from the team, careful not to draw any attention to himself; the voice was strict about the need for him not to be seen or heard leaving them.
The present mission was hard, but Johnson learned long ago that everything was possible to him that believed. .
In the cabin, he took the knife and stabbed his side until he had enough paint. He had to get the painting to be just as beautiful as the sky he just saw painted by the setting sun.
He had to.
Heaving with each exertion, Johnson painted on the ceiling, his artistic mind remembering the details of the sunset he left the others gazing at.
Finally, he gave the final stroke and sat back to admire his work, a perfect portrait of a blood red sky.
When the others returned, he was long dead, but he had a smile on his face.
This is my entry for the STACH Short Story Contest. See the original post here https://steemit.com/contest/@stach/stach-short-story-contest-23-199-words-5-winners-15sbd-prize-pool