A Study of Beauty

A series of two-sentence ideals of 'beauty'.

“It's beautiful, isn't it,” he said, looking at portrait he had just finished. He poured his heart into the lines and colours just as he poured his heart into the portrait's muse.

“It's beautiful, isn't it,” she said, looking at the playground. Her youngest was chasing her oldest around the obstacles like they were made for this jungle.

“It's beautiful, isn't it,” he said, running his hand over the black door. A few hundred dollars and countless hours of work yielded his best drive yet.

“It's beautiful, isn't it,” she said, staring out the window. Everything was perfect here, with the house that looked like it belonged to a doll, with the candlelight street lights, with the new beginning.

“It's beautiful, isn't it,” he said, looking over the field. Many died here, yes, but it was in bravery and valor and loyalty, never to be forgotten.

“It's beautiful, isn't it,” she said, standing over a body. It took years of watching and yearning for her love's blood to paint the walls, and now it all became worth it.