Ode to Aphrodite

Chapter Ⅳ

     Dean finally arrived at his old place by noon. It was a long walk, considering the journey was from the manor back to the city. He was too tired to wonder why he hadn't been provided a carriage back as well, nor was he surprised.

     The ton threw the working class out like shit after business was finished.

     It was always like that, for everyone, which was why he hadn't said another word. Plus, the pay was more than enough to make him happy.

     As tired as a bear during hibernation, he could only imagine slamming himself down into his familiar wonky bed which he had worked so hard for to stay in. Quickly, he knocked on the wooden door of the two-story lodging.

     "Hold yer horses!" A familiar voice sounded from the other side of the door.

     It creaked open, revealing Bill in his usual wear. Dean smiled at his landlord—at least he still hoped for him to be so.

     Bill's face turned into a frown before he hastily slammed the door close on Dean's face. A bit shook, he pressed himself on the door and knocked more as he said, "Bill, let me in!"

     Once more the door opened, pushing Dean back, "Not a chance my boy, you stay there."

     "I can pay my rent! Ple-"

     "Nah uh! I've suffered enough of yer 'laters'. Look for someplace else, will yah?"

     Again, it was slammed, but this time it was locked with a loud clack. Dean stepped back and sighed.

     It looked like he would be on the lookout once more for a new place, which was very much a hassle. To find another room with hopefully cheap rent and at least running water.

     He yawned as he looked down on his shoes stepping on the dirty pavement. He felt extremely unlucky about the whole situation. He bid goodbye to his sleep for the day and forced his eyes to look around for signages for open rooms.

     As he wandered, he caught the scent of flour whiffing in the air. He looked to where the scent came from and saw a small bakery in a little alleyway by the corner. It was a humble place, he thought, as a basket of newly baked bread was laid on its wide window sill.

     He couldn't help his craving as he might've heard his stomach growl at the sight. There, he decided to step in and buy a piece of bread with his hard-earned pennies. He smiled as he felt that they were comfortingly warm.

     He sat in the bustling town square as he ate his loaves. Sitting by the fountain as the sounds of the water falling slowly comforted him out of his slight misery. Looking around as he stared at the different types of people walking down the street. From the laughing nobility to the rushing workforce, and the running children. He smiled as he saw the whole lively scene.

     It was amazing how each and every face that passed by had a completely different life of their own. He then thought of how beautiful would this scene look like as a painting, but at the same time, he frowned at himself.

     To paint this scene would only be ruining it for himself. He would only ruin the beauty, and he felt like painting it would only be a waste of time.

     Dean knew that within him he loved painting. He really did, as he went about each and every day looking for new views to lay down onto his canvas. But every time he sat on his little wooden stool and pointed his brush to the blank space.

     There was nothing.

     No eagerness, no thoughts, no excitement, nor inspiration. With every stroke of paint, he forced out from his brush, it was all mistakes. There was no burning passion, so why should he continue?