10 Minute Tales

May 10 - Identity

He stared at the canvas, waiting. The paints by his side sat there, blobs of colour awaiting only form. The scene before him was broad, an expansive park that bobbed in the wind. He briefly considered painting them blue, the deep waters of the ocean, but he growled softly as he dropped the idea.
"If the crops are blue, what's left to fill the sky?" He grumbled. A passer-by glanced at him, concerned. The artist frowned as he looked at the scene again. The average person would see the children at play, the brown dog barking joyously. He saw nothing of the sort. He saw raw emotion, unbridled and uncontrolled. He saw primal fury. He saw the way things were. Now, how to express it? I need chaos. He dabbed his paintbrush in the red and slashed with it almost violently. I need energy. He chose yellow next, barely rinsing the brush before striking again. I need youth. Here he paused. How to reflect youth? Energy had already been represented in yellow, the fiery passion of red wouldn't work, two colours wouldn't do it justice. "Rrgh... no, this won't work..." he growled, clenching his fist as anger welled within him. His muse had abandoned him once again. "Damn it!" He suddenly rose to his feet, swiping at the air above the easel. He caught the tip, making it rock around back and forth. It came to a rest but his fury still burnt bright. He growled loudly, prepared to swing again, when a quiet cough caught his attention. He looked over, his temper quickly stifling itself. It was a young woman, wearing a slim blue dress. Her dark hair was hidden by a straw hat, but enough escaped to frame a slender face. Her very sight made him pause.
"Are you okay, sir?" She asked in a quiet voice. Its dulcet tones echoed through his soul, almost making his joy sigh out. This was what he needed.
"Yes..." he muttered, regaining himself. "Yes, I'm quite alright..."
"Do you need a drink? I..." she held out a bottle. "I have some water here."
"Yes, thank you." He took it, sipping calmly. The water was cold, freshly purchased. He sipped some more, sighing after it cleared his mouth, his mind. "Much better, thank you..."
"May I ask what you are working on?" She leaned to one side, looking at the canvas.
"There is nothing to see yet." He grumbled. "There is the start of it, but that is all I have achieved. All I can achieve."
"It's interesting so far... minimal, yet emotional..." she murmured quietly, looking at the painting. His heart skipped another step or two. She understood him!
"I am trying to paint the scene before us. The energy, the emotions..."
"The uncontrolled motion. It's... it's wonderful, that you're trying to capture it in such a medium..."
"Motion?" He blinked. It was coming to him so clearly now! "Step aside, please. I must act." Grey, of course, light grey. The wind itself was as active as the children. If he could capture that energy, that freedom they both had...