Some of them want to blue you

The acrylic painting of the English countryside hung crooked above the fireplace mantle. Beautiful, he thought, staring at her unfinished work of art, lost in memories past.

Some thought it odd he chose such a strange work of art to place so prominently in his home. There were large gaps in the sky, and one of the hounds was missing its head. It wasn't the painting so much that he loved but the painter—a woman who left this earth so painfully soon.

“That’s right”, he said, “this unfinished canvas was painted by the late great Annie Lennox!” My eyebrows raised. “The singer? She’s alive and well.”, I replied. “NO! Lies! Liar! You lie!” He shouted.

I tried to find Lennox's Wikipedia page to prove she was still alive, but he was on me before I could finish typing her name. "Keep your head up! Movin' on!" he cried, hammering his fists against my body to the rhythm of "Sweet Dreams". I reached for a tube of cadmium blue and

shakily continued painting. At last I finished, relieved to be free from the torturous repeat of the song. “Aha! A masterpiece! I knew you could be properly motivated.” “Please…” I begged. “Oh no,” he said. “We’ve only just started.” The sounds of the music started up again.