Post Traumatic Stress Disorder

Somebody told him to take up painting
He thought that would be good
So friends brought him paint, easel, canvas, brushes

The red splashed on the canvas
Spilling onto the green of the painted grass
Brilliant yellow and bright orange
Lit up the gray-blue sky
Black shapes hovered above the brackish bluewater rice paddy
Brown bodies cowered in a corner of the painting
Two flesh colored hands reached up from the bottom margin
Holding a white surrender flag

He thanked them and began culling the paint colors
No crimson red or brilliant yellow
He continued sorting
Handing the tubes to them one at a time
No black, blue, gray or brown
The colors of war flashed back to him
No bright orange
He looked at green for a moment
Then tossed it away, too
He took up the brush and pointed it at the white canvas
Then set it down and leaned back in his chair.