They just shook their heads, when she asked about Paul and the girls. A miracle that you survived the crash, they said. She’d rather not.
Her right arm seemed the only part of her body that was left uninjured so when she needed something to do she started painting again: a portrait of herself in her younger days. Or better, like she had wanted to be, then. Now she didn’t mind.
I like the naive style, said one of the doctors and, since she only needed a small part of the sheet, she crayoned herself painting the portrait, and then extended the picture with airbrush technique, making it photorealistic. Somebody talked about cross-style meta-postmodernism. She shrugged (with her right shoulder).
After she left the hospital, she made a short film about therapeutic painting and then modeled clay figures of the film set, featuring herself as an director apparently annoyed by her unprofessional team.
She was invited to festivals but refused.
As a last step, she programmed a complete three dimensional animation of her shaping the making-of of the film showing her airbrushing a portrait of her crayoning herself painting ...
The very moment before was done, the screen froze, then went black. Frustrated she wanted to shut the laptop computer but her hand wouldn’t move. She heard a beeping noise and the display showed a flat green line.
It’s time, said Paul. The girls are waiting.

#microfiction