The Judgement
I was in an empty room.
A painting was hanging on the wall. Nothing exceptional, a gloomy landscape: a vast expanse of grass. In the distance, bell towers, overhung by a dull sky. Some clouds, sheep in the meadow. A river at the edge of the frame.
Suddenly, a sheep detaches itself from the herd. It approaches the water, stands still. Then it dips its leg in the water.
The water stirs, forms large swirls, overflows its bed. It collides with the frame. The flow does not stop growing, the liquid piles up against the wall.
A drop falls on the ground. The water level rises, until it invades the whole frame. The drops accumulate and form a pool. And it continues: a split appears on the glass, then another one. The glass cracks, holds for a few more seconds. Then it explodes.
The water gushes into the room, falls to the ground in a great rush, invades everything. The sheep, the meadow, the bell towers and the sky: everything is sucked into the room, leaving an almost blank canvas. The flow slows down now, until it is reduced to a thin stream.
A few drops, again.
In the frame, a room, naked.