Pieces of You | Original by scythesfw

Chapter One

Ethereal beauty. As a lone willow tree stands against a twilight sky, its branches reaching out like intricate lacework, silhouetted against the fading hues of dusk. The sky is a breathtaking gradient of colors, from deep indigo at the top to soft lavender and gold near the horizon, each shade blending seamlessly into the next.

Each paint stroke tells a different story, a different personality, a different feeling - a different person. The strokes range from light intricate strokes to large slashes across the canvas. The larger and more erratic each stroke got, it evoked a familiar feeling inside of me but I just did not know what. As if it wants to jump out of the painting, plead and beg for mercy - or maybe even forgiveness.

When I was in my early teenage years, this art piece was my inspiration. My drive. My muse. It was the beginning spark of my journey as a young, aspiring artist. The name of the art piece was called 'The Wallow' by one of the most renowned and skilled sculptors, Alton.

He is known for his famous sculptures, rather than his paintings, but to me, this specific painted artwork brought me to life and exposed me to this unknown world of beautiful symphonies. In truth, I am not really an enthusiast for his works as I have only laid eyes on his one work but I do know that he is well respected and glorified in the art community. If we were to exclude a certain controversy that happened a few years ago.

Well, even so, his art is still well admired, considering that just his artworks alone fill up two whole galleries in the country, this very one that I'm standing in, and another one, in the country's capital.

As my thoughts began to wonder, I quickly snapped back to reality to gaze upon my favoured art work once more.

"It's astounding," I muttered under my breath.

"Isn't it?" a mature, blonde woman with her hair slicked back to a tight ponytail, spoke eloquently, at my side.

She almost gave me a fright but remaining composure, I gave her a pleasant smile while trying to read her card on her lanyard. Mrs Rochaire, the Gallery Manager. Even her name sounds expensive. To oversee such fine art pieces every day - the pieces must have rub off the richness and elegance onto their employees. I looked back at her eyes and noticed she had extended her hand to greet mine. I returned the favour.

"Mrs Kingston, was it? I heard from your mentor that you are quite the creator, are you not?" she spoke, while still in the grasps of my hand and not breaking this everlasting eye contact.

The reason why I attended the gallery was because of an event, that my department in university was specifically invited to. My professor only rounded up the "better" ones to attend this event which was about 10 of her students, one of which was me. It made no sense to me as to why she only picked out a handful out of the 200 students in the whole department but now, I understand.

The gallery is fully packed with many formally dressed individuals who looked ready to purchase the whole gallery. From time-to-time, one or two hearty guffaws exerted from them and each time, it sounded as if there were pure 24 carat gold coins spewing out of their mouths. But now, it truly surprises me how the gallery manager would speak to me, a less well-off individual, rather than these affluent folks.

"Haha. You are too kind, Mrs Rochaire. I just create what I love. There's nothing too special about it," I responded with another huge smile on my face.

"I had visited an exhibition displayed at Sterling a while back. Your art was one of the display highlights, as well as mine. You are truly gifted, young lady."

"You are most flattering, Miss," I smiled and bowed slightly.

"Seems you are enthralled by this artwork. It's beautiful, isn't it? A painting of a breathtaking willow tree against an aurora sky. A public-favourite."