Robert Motherwell
Larry Rivers
Franz Kline
Pablo Picasso
Hollis Brown Thornton
Garth Weiser
Jasper Johns
Sammy paused, then punched his hand through the window. He licked the purple blood from his fingers. "That tastes good!" he exclaimed. I fainted. When I came to, the rug was green and the house was a home. "What should we do?" he asked. "I don't know," I shook my head, "but let's eat something quick." Bats circled us as we walked the beaten path. The sky was painted hazel, but I've never been good with colors. Could've been just blue. I wanted to fly like a kite. Sammy licked the blood from his fingers. "They taste good," he said. "Stop it," I begged, but he kept on. "The black trees! The black bees!" I yelled, hoping to distract him. "My hands!" he exclaimed. His hands had become candy, so we went home.
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