What to paint

Chapter 4

You didn't comprehend your horrible memory. You'd be asked questions about what had happened through each week but you never understood and you never remembered the questions. You didn't realize what you had said just now made the person drop their pen. You also didn't know that this weeks questioning had come early. You herd the tap of it on the ground. They were standing wide eyed and mouth agape. You tilted your head watching as they scrambled to write something down.
"Remembered activity, and name," the person mubbled.
What did that mean? You just waited again. Figgeting with the hemming of your shirt. The door opened and you both turned your heads.
"Scaramouche!" you stood up and walked towards him. You didn't know what you did. He just stood and stared at you. You thought that he was mad but that didn't last long as you had forgotten what you were thinking about.
"What did you say?"
"I said something?"
He shook his head, "its nothing don't worry yourself."
"Alright," and that too was forgotten. You followed him around again. He spoke and comanded his underlings throughout the day. You didn't do much. You sat quietly at meetings, and doodled the man and the intricacies of his hat and clothes. The embroidery of the drappery at the back of the hat. The shine of the metal. The pouch that hung from his back.
The details of the meetings were forgotten. The people there too became blurs in youe mind. You continued to draw him and you had no idea that you had been drawing his joints to look more like a dolls. You didn't notice the ways your drawings looked like something you one saw and forgotten as well.
You were over come with a strange feeling, that something was missing. You wanted something, you had no reason to feel this reason. It confused you.
You forgot why you were sitting and looking at the man on the wall. "Scaramouche..." you played with the name. Somehow you knew that was their name.
A knock rang throughout the room. You opened the door and looked up at a woman. She smelled of flowers. You don't know what kind they were.
"Follow me."
She turned and started walking. You followed. She lead you down to the large thrown room you had painted so many times. Another woman sat in the throne. She was reading a handful of papers when the door opening coused her to look up.
Her eyes reminded you of something. It was on the tip of you mind as soon as you saw her eyes looking at you. This woman you had seen and painted thousands of times really did seem familiar to you now.
Without any signal or words, you walked right up to her side. You stood quietly atop the steps leading to the thrown. The woman who had lead you here reached out to grab you.
She stopped as the god raised her hand slightly motioning for her to step down.
"What are you looking at?" you leaned forward looking at the papers.
She spread them out slightly and allowed you to look at them without strainning your neck.
"I've been told you remembered something?"
"Remembered something?"
She nodded, "Something you just know? Perhaps without knowing as to why?"
"Like the red paint on the ladies shoes?" you asked the image flashing in your mind.
"Yes, that counts. Is there anything else you know?" her eyes glanced at a paper thats ink had been smuged slightly as if it fell off a table before it dryed.
"I know scaramouche?" you questioned yourself.
"Do you know who that is?"
"I'm not sure."
"I see, thank you for speaking with me my dear." she spoke reaching to hand you something.
A simple canvas was gifted to you. It was the same image of red paint on shoes, splattered across the floor and your legs. "This is what I remembered?"
"Correct, I was wondering if you could paint scaramouche this time." She folded her hands in her lap. Gentle eyes looked up at you.
"I can try," you spoke looking at the canvas. "But I'm not sure what he looks like."
"I'd like you to paint as much as you can, even if its not what you know to be true." she reached out a hand cupping your cheek.