The Artist

In the heart of town named Wellville lied the home- cum atelier of a student Ali who was always seemed to be making a masterpiece but never succeeded to make a mark on the council of academia that he passionately desired every day and night. Although there were several thoughts and comments that brutally tried to abseil his passion but the painting of Michael Angelo placed on an alcove of atelier pushed him every time to work harder and not got driven by the talks of arrogant town's people who meant nothing to him except for a girl named Zahra a friend of Ali since his childhood who used to adore his work no matter how hard it was scathed by troupe who were entitled to give ratings for any work of art in Wellville and auctioned later brining the artist money to buy bread and butter.

"That season giving me pangs" said Ali with brush in his hand painting a lady holding a child behind the church on the road.

" Don't worry , this is not going to last longer" said Zahra staring rain outside the window sitting at rickety stool in the atelier that had several spider webs and creaks which were oozing water in rhythm like a clock.

"You need to clean it all, cleanliness also bring good omen and who knows your fortune may change after cleaning the atelier", said Zahra staring a painting of a little boy in amidst city bulla wart selling balloons.

"For what reason did Mr. Yoor give to reject this absolutely perfect peace of art" asked Zahra pointing at the painting at one of the corner beside the alcove.

"He said the tragedy is exaggerated and not real and poor imitation of renowned artist that is absolutely a sin", said Ali working on the smile of little kid in the lap of lady.

"I think you should send your work to the higher authorities- there might be a possibility that the Mr. Yoor is jealous of you and don't want you to be a part of council of artist of town.

"God knows I have prayed every day to be in that council, such an honor but my incompetent work is not following my dreams, originality is something they demand but I end up every time to put an impression of some great work of some great artist and that ruins everything' said Ali putting the palette of colors on the nearby stool and shutting the drapes.

"Let there be some shower" said Zahra who were enjoying a little sprinkle of water beside the window.

"I think all sort of natural charm has eluded me in pursuit of capturing the unrealistical imagery which is by the way turning me more fractious than ever" said Ali with his eyes fixed on the facial gesture of lady in the painting.

"Why don't take some off and follow me in the rain to awake your senses, after all this riveting world spur you not the palette of color that merely imitates the real" , said Zahra and they both went outside with rain drenching them as soon as they moved an inch.

" I always admired the god in the form of art , look at this cathedral looking like a piece of heaven in the rain, in my childhood I used to dream about getting at its zenith and jumping off having wings like bird, I believe that god would give save me by giving me wings" said Ali with rain getting wilder and wilder.

"Yeah, childhood is a pathetic stage far from truth but sometimes getting ignorant doesn't do much harm" said Zahra amidst the stridently whistling wind.

"Let's get back to atelier, I am tired of these alleys, that remind me my mother and poverty, I always wished to get the train that Mr. Boor's rich son would play on these streets while we seven brothers wait in vain for our father to bring us food. The wait was so much cruel but the more painful was watching mother helplessly begging on the streets to fed us" said Ali and tears welled up his eyes