Writing Prompts + Short Stories

The Girl In The Painting

Writing Prompt: Write about something you are really passionate about, but add a very dark plot twist

 Warning: Sadastic character, psychopath and pyromaniac in our midst.

(Not sure if that is a warning, but it's better to be safe than sorry)

             

I had to stop sleeping.

The dreams were killing me.

The guilt was eating at me for what I had done to you...

No. I shouldn't entertain those thoughts. Anything but that.

I got out of my bed and went for the light, but the power had been off for who knows how long.

Instead, I lit a match.

Its flames and overwhelming heat weren't enough to calm me.

I shut my bedroom door, match in my hand, and I entered the hall showcasing my artwork.

I loved to paint. It helped me get my mind off of things. And, I needed that badly right now.

Merely one hundred paintings decorated the otherwise lifeless stone walls. They all had silver frames.

What can I say?

These nights, I've pulled a lot of all-nighters. My restless state and fear of dreaming were the cause of that.

Who needed sleep, anyway?

When I have nothing to do, my mind takes me to places that I don't want to talk about.

My gaze wandered and fell on my self portrait from about a year ago.

To be honest, it wasn't my best work. I never really excelled at drawing humans or animals. But, this one was still my favourite. I guess it was because it reminded me of better times.

The vibrant meadow green eyes stared back at me, peering into my soul (at least that was what it had felt like) through my lifeless charcoal eyes. You could say that they were a shade of burnt green.

The painting's smile was so radiant that it seemed as if she were mocking the permanent frown etched upon my freckled face, that was barely visible due to the dark contrast of my skin.

Last of all, her beautifully braided crown of dark oak hair and red highlights were a sight to behold. My, now, singed ash and ebony flavoured hair was a stark contrast next to the girl in the painting's carefully styled one.

The only thing that hadn't changed was the scribbly signature on the bottom right hand corner:

ARKT

My mouth slowly shaped the words of my name, my tongue moving up and down. My brain didn't even have to react. It was all muscle memory.

"Aubrey... Rhea... Kallam... Tround," my hoarse voice cut through the air. A voice that I had almost forgotten how it sounded.

I uttered my name once more. However, this time, it rang clearer.

It echoed across the halls of the castle.

The sound was almost as haunting as the feeling of being watched, whenever I walked past here.

Looking back at my portrait, I ripped off a piece of my black and silver nightdress (I wasn't going to be needing it anyways) and tried to copy the hairstyle the girl was wearing.

My reflection shown in the cracked mirror situated on the left of the portrait next to an empty spot.

It was decent enough.