PAINT A PHOTOGRAPH

(1)

The little most things occupy the most spaces in a heart.

However, Milli begged to differ. She'd seen it. Happen over and over again in her life. Life was more so than ever a petty thing, a film, flowing in vivid motion one panel after the other. Things improve, people change, it is one heck of a fairy tale.

And today, with smooth tresses curved into a waterfall behind, wearing a searing blouse and pencil skirt, Milli Rosebery is here at Mr Virginia's house. A painter by profession, he wants every speck of his existence noted and photographed, not a single thing should feel unnoticed. Even the little webs that Milli is eyeing with glassy, oceanic eyes.

To think, he'd be different.

Paris was full of arrogance.

If there were a hundred patters in florals, so were there the rich and the richer. Milli found the comparison unpleasant of how her native resembled to some sort of cinematographic art.

There were humongous windows, Milli noted. Creepers crawling in and out outta cobbled stones. And a beige colored couch? How mismatched. Mr Cain Virginia, the mystery.

Still, he'd been televized the other night.

That's why, Garcia couldn't resist sending her staff member in. Too bad Becky wasn't interested.

In the lawn, on further inspection, Milli spotted a boy much younger than herself. Dark haired, six o' clock, well Milli was never sure what the second one meant but she hoped she could capture the captivating male on a sheet.

His lips were so orange.

The grass appeared to have gone under a fine haircut. The trees, as Milli passed, were colorful. Jello green, peach yellow, distinct, olives... And the man, he was sat on a swing, motionless, except for holding an apple right next to his mouth. If only, he grazed -

"What does the sigh mean?" Quick as eye blink, he rose.

Milli stood fixed to her spot. She regretted disturbing him. Now he'd want to converse. Milli's more of an admirer. A worshipper. Uh -

"Who are you?"

"Must I have a name?" Milli chose her words wisely. Also, quietly. Hoping her racing heart doesn't fly out before he makes sense outta her gingerly viewing him. "Can't I be a beautiful stranger?"

He relaxed almost reflexively. "What if I say you're not as beautiful as you're you are in your head?" He challenged with a glint of wonder in his left eye, the color of rotten orchids. "Then I will," for some reason, Milli let herself go that moment, strolling closer and closer until the weather swam somewhere picturesque. With the bird chirping getting a bit louder, clearer. "... Sit by you and ask you how come you know? Is cognition an abstract thing no more?" He was about to chuckle which was met by Milli speaking, " or are you as narcissistic as I make you appear? Surely, the mansion says it."

"Hardly."

"It does."

"Does it?"

"Wouldn't lie to stranger."

"Not even a beautiful one?"

"Not if he can read me like a book..." Not if Milli feels goosebumps erupting her skin by being in mere earshot from him, wondering whether he'd offer her tea and become awkward just as most other suitors she's had before or, position himself devilishly near and murmur something reckless, something heart warming, something that comes perfectly natural like the bird song. "Do you read? I noticed you, breakfasting... And engrossed in a book,"

"I don't," he spoke too quickly.

Even so, carrying an old copy of Dorian Gray under his maroon sleeved arm, "so well, I suppose, I assume, you're one of those men?"

The trigger was a confused face. His lip tore the skin of the fruit with a hint of gentleness. "Those men?"

Gradually, Milli set the swing in motion with the atmosphere, careful as not to interrupt the flow, the urgency she felt while answering. "Ones who read because their lady friend instructed them to do so."

"Do I look like a somebody who listens to his lady friends wish against him self's?"

"Are you?"

"Am I ...?"

Unfortunately, the petite maid, the one who'd teleponed her earlier for photography, came in the picture. The pair repelled. Mere inches, they pulled away, the oblivious maiden setting a tray between them. Of large loaves, unusual cheese grazing a knife, and many different items. Never had Milli ever experienced such nostalgia. The man seemed to be too observant for his own good. "We will take from here. Thanks," lord save her. The poor maiden was shot by an instant glare at once, she ran away as swift as she'd appeared. Milli gulped. "I was, I was-"

"-yes?"

"I am here to photograph the man, I mean to say, the -- Cain Virginia, it's a gorgeous place, isn't it? I'll take my leave if he's not av-"

His gaze remained unwavering and detached simultaneously. Raised his chin, stoically, "are you afraid of me now?" It wasn't fair of him to question while going to the extent of grabbing a hold of her arm in a soft manner. "What's your impression of Mr Virginia?"

"He's a good man," he didn't let go for quite a few restless moments, his touch lingered. Milli licked her cherry red gloss and cringed. "He's... A rich man, to be perfectly honest. Those people want everything in frames. The perfect pictures. Their paintings, their jewels, their melancholy, their everything --- the faux jacket!" She got him smiling by impulsively pointing at his tossed aside coat. Near the bamboo benches. "I can't say riches mean one has no heart but I can tell you, their hearts are more-"

"-important?"

"Important."

She resisted the sweeping urge to fan her insides. God, he was collected. And anyhow, this Virginia person is sure taking long, if only Milli hadn't invaded his garden. "Are you a guest too?"

"Sorta,"

Saying so, the man stripped the apple off his deliciousness. Between bites, he asked Milli Rosebery if she'd help herself or not. It touched her how comfortable they'd became. "It's Milli."

-

1001 words challenge.