Lola stared at the blank, white wall full of broken promises. She glanced down at the bucket of paint that held even more and kicked it, stubbing her toe.
She groaned, and buried her tear stained face in her hands.
Before another thought could come, she grabbed the screwdriver laying on the drop cloth and pryed open the lid. Lifting the one gallon bucket, one hand on the top, fingers sinking into the burgandy paint and one on the bottom, she flung the bucket foward, as hard as her worn muscles could bare, cascading the paint down the wall.
Her chest heaved, she choked back her sobs, set down the empty bucket and walked out, closing the door behind her.
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