Traum von Asterhive

The Painting

It seemed that the raccoon flu epidemic had yet to reach this floor.

Everyone was strolling about peacefully, peering into shop windows or chatting around fountains.

"This won't do," you said, and you prepared to cause another panic.

A voice caught your attention before you could. It was a deep voice, charming. You decided to follow it.

The voice belonged to a man sitting at a table with other people. A panel of sorts, probably discussing the giant painting propped up on the equally huge easel beside them.

"-my inspiration," said the voice that apparently belonged to one Samuel Laurence, "Is my dear friend, who passed away years ago on a hunting trip. I made this in his memory. Oh my dear friend Stephen, how I miss you so."

The crowd around you sobbed. You just squinted at the painting and tried to discern whether the man was wearing a fur hat or a deerstalker.

"TRAITOR!" a voice cried out, and a man came striding up to the panel. He looked like a grizzled old hunter. He glared at Samuel Laurence with one eye. "You're a traitor!" he spat.

Samuel Laurence paled and stood. "No, no it can't be-"

"Oh, but it can!" With one great leap, the newcomer landed on the table. He pointed at the painting. "That is my masterpiece, mine! You cretin, you craven!I thought I could trust you, Sammy, but the moment I finished my magnum opus, you stabbed me in the back and left me for dead!"

The crowd gasped. You gasped along, because that seemed apprpriate.

Samuel Laurence backed away, shaking. "N-no Steve, you have it all wrong!"

"I know the face of he who stabbed me with my own dagger!" Steve screeched, and somehow you knew that his true name was Stephen Chapman. "I know the face of he whom I trusted, only to find him walking away with my life's work!"

"No, no!" cried Samuel Laurence, then he dashed away sobbing.

Just then, the infected came swarming. People screamed, running once more. Stephen Chapman alone was unfazed, covering up his painting with a cloth before calmly sitting beneath it.

"Won't you run?" you asked.

"My time has come," he said sagely. "I have lived my life for my work. My masterpiece is finished. I fear nothing now."

Brave man, you thought, then ran off. You belatedly realized that you had not been the one to cause the panic this time around. Oh well.