The Mandala Girl (COMPLETED)

Chapter 9

It's gone. My hand is completely gone! All that's left is a little stub at the end of my wrist, but I don't feel any pain. I don't feel anything. Only frigidness. Extreme frigidness like I'm reaching into the depths of outer space.

My eyes remain fixed on the canvas. No matter how hard I try, I can't seem to look away. I'm completely mesmerized by what has happened, while struggling to comprehend it.

TJ moves around to the backside of the canvas. "Your fingers didn't protrude through to the other side. So . . . they went into the canvas?" He sounds just as confused as me. "Can you pull your hand out?"

I hadn't thought about it. Seeing my hand disappear right before my very eyes has left my mind a scattered mess, but I try pulling it from the painting. It's difficult at first; heavy like I'm moving through quicksand. Slowly, my hand emerges from the painting; knuckle by knuckle, finger by finger. Towards the end, it gets easier, almost as if whatever had its grip on my hand finally gave up. Once I'm free, I distance myself from the canvas, caressing my hand close to my chest.

"T-th-this is too much. This is all too much," I say, collapsing to my knees. "I can't—I just can't!" Tears sting my eyes and I begin to tremble. So much has happened over the last twenty-four hours. So much. At various times, it feels like a dream, then a nightmare, then a dream again. The paintbrush possesses unfathomable capabilities and I do not understand how or why. It's just all so much for me to process right now.

TJ kneels at my side, drawing me in close. "Hey, you're alright. You're okay," he whispers.

"No, it's not okay!" My outburst sails across the open field, and I shove him away. "What part about any of this is okay?"

"You're just in shock is all. Everything will be alright. I promise." His soft voice settles my frayed nerves.

He's right. I am in shock. And rightfully so, but I need to regain my composer. Being a panicky mess won't do me any good.

TJ extends a hand towards me and I grab a hold of it, rising to my feet. As I move back over to the canvas, the distant sound of ocean waves and crying gulls touches my ears. "Aren't you the least bit curious to see where it leads?" TJ's eyes seem to sparkle as he asks that question.

I am curious, but I'm also terrified. What will happen if we walk through that canvas? What awaits us on the other side? Is it death? Is it paradise? "What if we die?" I say, not breaking eye contact with the painting.

"Oh, my dear." He laughs lightly. "What if we live? What if whatever is on the other side of that painting is like nothing we've ever seen before?"

"I'm surprised you're not more afraid of the unknown."

"I'm an author, remember? I live on the edge of the unknown. Now, come on. It's time we make the unknown . . . known." He loops his fingers inside mine and we pass through the painting.

* * *

Darkness encompasses us from all directions. If I didn't know better, I would assume that I'm dead or at the very least asleep.

"TJ?" I expected my voice to echo on and on for miles, but it doesn't. Instead, it sounds muffled like I'm standing inside a padded room. The atmosphere is brisk; the cold burns my throat with each breath, filling my lungs with icy cold air. That doesn't come as a huge shock, however. When I first reached into the painting, my hand felt as if it was covered with ice. I guess that's what happens when there's no sun to warm everything.

The silence is hurting my ears, so I break it. "TJ!" I put more power into my voice this time, hoping that my efforts will yield results. Is it possible he didn't make it through the painting?