The Lost Dreams of a Broken Poet

Green eyes: part 1

Short story based on Bécquer's story Los ojos verdes (The green eyes). Fun fact, I actually wrote this in Spanish for a Writing Competition, didn't win, though. If you want the original, I can post it, too.
I'll post a poem based on this poem on Saturday, enjoy:

I stared at the wall with downcast eyes. If I ignored the world, maybe the world would ignore me. Maybe it would look over me and choose another corpse to torture.

So I sank down onto the floor, hugging my slim body I so hated. And I cried and cried until I had no more tears.

But when I looked up I saw the unfinished picture, the blank parts of the canvas calling me, urging me to finish. But it wouldn't be the same thing without my sister. It would never be the same.

Still. I hated seeing things half done. So I stood up with as much grace as I could and set about to gathering all my painting materials to finish my last picture. The very last one.

With sure stokes I finished the beautiful body of the nymph, half her body rising from greenish water which reflected deep secrets within. Her delicate arm was extended towards a young man in old-fashioned clothes who looked at her with glassy eyes, spellbound by her infinite beauty.

She had deep green eyes, the color of a forest after heavy rain when it woke up after a fitful slumber of lightning and thunder. And she smiled at the man. A bewitching smile that could enchant anyone.

With one last twist of my wrist I set aside my brushes and palette and took a step back to admire the painting. Yes. It was befitting for a washed out artist with a broken heart and crumbling soul.

So I turned around with a sigh, ready to leave the studio. Forever.

But then... A soft whisper caressing the back of my neck made me stop on my tracks.

"Come..." It said. And my whole body trembled. Tears leaked down my eyes and splashed on the ground. It had her voice. And she was calling me.

I spun, looking for the source of the sound, and, in a trance, approached the picture. The nymph seemed to be making motions, calling me. Whispering my name again and again.

I reached out towards the painting, and the nymph extended her hand. I touched it and she laced her fingers around mine. And then she slowly pulled me into the picture into a world of oblivion. Into a world where everything could finally be over.