The Sound Of Bees

 I would really appreciate some constructive criticism .I'm just a beginner in writing and I'm also not a native in the language, sooo...Sorry for mistakes, if anyone reads this ,I guess...

              The sunlight was coming from darkened windows and was lightly touching the room- the transparent and simple beauty was gracious enough to enter even this place, with the bunch of dried up flowers in a tacky vase and the cheap, old furniture. The owners' tries to create a sense of peace and coziness were obviously unfertile. And yet even they had this one perfect moment. The faint humming of bees could be heard. At first glance the room seems empty, which defers quite a lot from its usual state.

                He is a painter. She works in the factor nearby. He is tall and lean, she's short and thin. Were they happy?-who knows. They just lived their simple lives- might've been every young couple in every city or country –Spain, America, Croatia- it didn't matter.

                But, except for smoking, which is crucial for every self-respecting artist, he had one bad habit. Whenever the colours on the canvas didn't obey his fingers, he would turn her into a canvas, painting her body with red and blue, and different shades of yellow, green and brow- all of this beautiful colours that seemed unnatural and wrong on her skin. They were marks of his failure and he hated them, hated her, with her colourful skin. Screams and yells were flying around like bullets in a war zone.

                 She tried escaping her colour-filled cage, but then he followed her, luring her with a nice shade of grey and a couple of glossy postcards with pretty images for a pretty future. They took a road trip, went to castles and galleries, saw different things. He felt inspired and everything was happy.

                    She got pregnant. He stopped smoking and started chewing tobacco instead, then went to mint leaves to keep his breath nice for her. He gained weight, started showing white hairs. He felt sullen and worried, because she seemed as beautiful as ever, her eyes big and her skin glowing. There's jealousy creeping into the little apartment with ugly vases, like a green film, covering everything. Whatever he touched, he could feel it on his skin and soon he himself became green- just like the wicked witch of the east.

                    She lied that she was going to the food market, but he saw it – the lie behind her pretty bright eyes. She seemed nervous, hands shaking.

                    When she came back there was a new portion of bullets and colours'. ''It was her fault'' –were his green thoughts, as he coloured her again and again, thin , long fingers grabbing and pulling, until she's on the floor, hands covering her belly, the sun bathing her in its light – nothing more than a cold witness to one war.

                     The metaphors suddenly became real. There was a sound of a gunshot, sharp and surprising. A little after followed a second one. Food markets these days- they can sell you all kinds of things. Anyone can make a mistake...

                     The sunlight was coming from darkened windows and was lightly touching the room. It's completely empty except for two unclear shapes on the floor- perhaps unfolded laundry.

                      Now that I come to think of it, there were no bees. Really, now that I'm giving it some thought, it sounds just like flies.

Aand, that's the big ending. Pretty dark, huh? It's just what came to my mind when I read the random words my friends sellected and then I challenged myself to write it.

If anyone reads this, please comment.I'm just starting out and some help would be great.

Def not edited.