The Faceless Truths

Picture Perfect

Entombed flowers wilted along the ashen walls, their petals curling and crumbling. It was difficult to decide which was more suffocating; the sweltering heat... or the abysmal silence. The room was vacant, but for the canvas and palette of paint in front of her. Invisible shackles were clamped tight around her ankles, and with each breath, her chest constricted painfully within her corset.

A soft glow shone through the crack in between the moth-eaten draperies and drifted across the hallowed room to illuminate the bare canvas before her slender figure. Beckoning. The woman's frail, sun-leeched hand drifted towards the paintbrush as if pulled forward by an invisible string, gently grasping the wooden handle as if in fear it may break. With a contemplative tilt of her head towards the palette, she sank the horsehair brush into the deep acrylic blue paint and held the brush before the canvas, mulling over what she desired to paint. As she assessed the canvas, blue paint dripped from the bristles and stained her washed-out grey skirt. Not that she cared. The pitiful, drab dress could do with more colour.

Lips drawn between her teeth and eyebrows pinched in concentration, the middle-aged woman swept her blue-tipped brush in a wide arc along the upper surface of the blank slate. She continued, hesitantly at first, with delicate sweeps and strokes, then progressively, bow-shaped lips curved above pearly white teeth in a beaming smile as her movements became fervent as she was consumed by a ravenous flame. Her hands moved thoughtlessly along the canvas and as a vague sense of detachment filled her, she was free.

Upon first sight, she paused, held in a wonderstruck trance. Contrary to the stifling, solitary chamber, it was nurturing and inspirational. Vibrant emerald grass swept in a great wave across the field to crest upon towering snow-capped mountains. While the mountains were surely beautiful, nothing could compare to the endless night sky. In the yawning darkness, lights danced and sang in an impassioned flame. Innumerable colours mixed and whirled together in harmony as little figures bathed in its luminescence. Little rabbits danced and played; eagles soared high, then plummeted towards the edge before their wings spread to catch them on the east wind.

Tenderly, the pleasant breeze curled around her waist and prompted her to turn to her right and so she complied. The woman's eyes widened like those of a doe and her lips parted on a gasp. Stretched before her were trees, and shrubs and flowers. However, they were not ordinary, they were magical. Though she had forsaken that word, she was sure that nothing else to describe what lay before her. 

Dark auburn trunks stood proudly, and branches were outstretched, but what was magnificent was not the purple leaves, but the life flowing through the tree. A pulsing heavenly glow was spread throughout the tree, flowing to the very tips of each leaf. It covered every inch of bark like a web. They were the veins pumping the untainted life, the essence of this... place, wherever – whatever – it was.

Grinning, she spun with her arms outstretched to the heavens and her face upturned to the rolling lights, her light, tea green, shapeless gown flaring. From the heavens, she appeared like a twirling flower, the ends of her dress shaped like petals. Later, after her head was light with bliss, she sank to the ground to rest in the bed of grass. Above her, the sky spun wondrously, and stars winked at her in the night sky. At last, she was at peace.

Contentedly, the women eyes sparkled as she stared at the painting before her, and at the small – nearly indistinguishable – figure of a child lying in an open field. Though she was tired, she stood on steady legs and strode toward the window, and without hesitation, she drew open the curtains. Sunlight caressed her check in an anticipated greeting.

She smiled.