Her paint stained fingers work relentlessly on the canvas displayed in front of her, a sentient essence of their own imbibed in practiced moves that give life to an insurmountable array of ideas and feelings to whatever extent they can as she creates magic with the one boon she has been bestowed with. Time feels like something that has no effect, entranced as she is in her art. It isn't until she adds the last detail to this painting of 2 days that the hold that seems to be over her snaps and time finally begins to matter. She steps back to examine her work which takes a careful scrutiny of five minutes before she turns towards the window, satisfied. It isn't surprising to her that the sky outside holds ombre colors of sunset now as she merely just positions the painting towards the window, as she has been doing all these years.
The table beside the canvas that is in disarray with all the brushes, paint tubes, rag cloth, pencils, eraser, scale and two water glasses along with a huge white palette smeared with multifarious colors, is the lightest shade of wood she has ever seen on a piece of furniture. It had drawn her eye the moment she had seen it. She pushes it gently to the corner though she usually clears it for there seems to be a sudden dearth of energy in her form along with the usual aches. She sighs and makes her way to her bedroom, wishing her exhaustion wasn't so all consuming that she needed to surrender to treacherous arms of sleep so very often, only to meet the demons and memoirs of a past left behind but never truly gone!
_
The day is hectic with all the grocery shopping, personal needs shopping and the complete setting up. As the sun sets though, everything feels worth it for his house is completely stocked and setup. He collapses on the sofa, tired and just wanting relief from the back ache that has plagued him from his accident a few years back. He lies like that for some time till the feeling of wanting some fresh air prompts him to move towards the balcony. As he settles by the sill for the second time, his eyes land on the painting facing the window. The room light is on and so he can see the painting in complete clarity. He cannot take his eyes off the marvellous piece, all the detailing that he's never seen ever used on a painting of Medusa.
Captive in fluid rhythm-
marble colors breathe
a visceral esse
The teardrop at the corner of her closed eye, crystal and glinting is the highlight of the painting. The snakes that make her hair, flutter all over the place like dark tresses of a mane against a strong gust of wind. Her arms are crossed over her chest as the blackened, tarnished essence of a young maiden lies cradled in them. The periphery of the painting thunders with haphazard lines of inevitable storms. The vignette pattern to the entire painting emphasizes gloom, helplessness and loss while also resonating with a strength that embellishes itself from that tear drop.
It is a piece of art that leaves him captivated with the intrinsic details and more so the vision behind it. He has always harbored an inclination towards art, be it finding and interpreting paintings or pouring over poems and stories while trying to pen down his own entangled feelings in words he never dared to show any one else. But all of it halted as his growing years burdened him with time consuming responsibilities that did not let him have a moment to himself. Gazing at the painting now, a thought settles in his mind that this new life might begin acquainting him with all the good that he had to leave behind. It makes him smile even as tears fill his eyes.
_
He has no idea how long he sits in the balcony, gazing at the painting. A picture speaks a thousand words and the story that the painting speaks is what he's trying to read.
"Isn't it fascinating, how a man's sin always becomes a woman's punishment?" there is a bitter note in her voice that startles him more than her sudden appearance.
She is dressed in a full sleeved loose shirt, another weird outfit choice, with her hair tied in a pony. He can see her a little more clearly as opposed to the previous night.
A thick pair of glasses perch on the bridge of her nose. They hadn't been there the previous night. Her sight is fixed at the painting but there is something about her, something like a tempest obscured in sheath of ordinary normality.
"The world sees the man's sin as a mere folly while a woman's mere presence is sin. But this is just the reality of what we unfortunately live in. Something more worth the attention and acknowledgment is the quiet strength of her, even in the worst of despair and depravity. This strength in her is chaste like holy fire. What's truly fascinating is the way you've painted her, a version that speaks the same story through her eyes"
She turns to look at him then, an inexplicable look on her face before she nods.
It truly is something different, this sort of conversation with a stranger, which doesn't begin or end with small talk and pleasantries. Something that pulls you to the core of a subject and brushes dangerously close to vulnerability. It is something ludicrous with how he's allowing it. Or maybe, it's something he should just let be.
_
WC: 946 words
Love,
Pratyusha
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Edge Of The Night | ONC2024 ✓
General Fiction[Open Novella Contest - 2024] ONC2024 Longlister Round 1 & 2 Qualifier Prompts: 24,5 Tired of rising from the ashes, when his last reason to hold on falls apart, a man seeking peace moves into a new apartment. What he doesn't expect is to become e...
