Saltwater & Ink

1. Inky *ars longa, vita brevis*

Types of people:

Saltwater- dark, tousled hair, ripped jeans, paintbrushes, lofty grins, swallowing hard, a little broken, trying desperately to be a good person

Ink- soft aching hands buried in messy hair, tragic smiles, scribbling on dusty parchment, ancient ruins, attic windows, stars, cups of tea gone cold

-anonymous

It was five o'clock in the morning, and she still couldn't sleep. The heavy cloak of insomnia weighing down like a thunderstorm. She sighed, tired but agitated under the surface. Pale hands shaky, she lit a cigarette and stared off into the early morning darkness.
The birds were loud at this hour, raucous calls and mating displays at an ungodly time of day. Exhaling smoke, she crept down the stairs and silently walked to the mailbox. Empty. Nothing again today. Frustrated, she finished the cigarette, grinding the end under her heavy boot. This was supposed to be the week the Gallery was sending out acceptances. Perhaps she was not on their list yet again, flying under their radar as per usual.
Slipping back inside through the heavy metal door, she hung her coat on the rack behind the door, discarded her boots in the hallway, and walked across the wood floor to her desk. Paint, scrap metal, parchment paper, brushes, ink, and various art debris littered the tabletop. A glass jar, filled halfway full of dark liquid and bristling with ruined paintbrushes, sat in the center of the chaos in front of her.
She sighed again, disgustedly shoving the art remains aside, and sat down cross-legged on an uncomfortable metal stool facing the detritus. A half-full mug of some unidentifiable brownish liquid was off to the side, whether it was coffee, tea, or paint-water she was not sure. She absently chewed at her fingertip, considering if it was worth it or not to risk poisoning from the mystery beverage. Her fingers were stained black with ink, as it were, she had probably absorbed most of the chemicals into her skin by now.
Outside the smokey glass window, the birds had ceased their auditory assault temporarily, and the sun was just starting to rise under the grey gloom of the sky. A year ago things were different, she thought, getting up to dump out the mug and make a fresh cup of tea. She remembered walking down to the beach, lead grey skies and the smell of salt air. Saltwater and Ink. Now it was endless, restless days of piecing together scraps, trying to create and ending up with an abomination. It was on the floor at the end of the flat, covered by a piece of drop-canvas, shrouded like a ghost. The small studio seemed haunted by a spectre, her unliving occupant she tried to ignore. She sipped the green tea, wrinkling her nose in distaste. The water was off, or it had boiled too long, and the tea had the distinct flavor of grass.
Accidentally catching her reflection in the panel of mirror along the side of one wall -gods I look so tired- she mused. Pale skin, dark circles under dark, lead grey eyes. Blotchy, freckled cheeks, random ink smears on her face, neck, and hands. Her ink-colored hair was a choppy, tangled mop, and her skin looked sallow and with a sickly aura. Ugh- she thought- I look like I haven't slept in a year. Might as well have- the constant pull of insomnia led to the days and nights blurring together. It could have been two days, six days, four weeks. Who knew. Who the hell knew anything anymore. Biting back tears, she quickly spun away from the vile reflection. Salt trails stained her face, making the ink bleed grey streaks down her cheek.
"Why did it have to be this way? I wish I'd never come to this place, this wretched place where the world ends and there's just- NOTHING left!" She threw the shroud off of the figure on the far wall. A plaster mold, vaguely humanoid, covered in parchment strips, wires, metal scraps, and red ribbon was revealed underneath. There was a fist-sized hole in the center of the torso, where candle wax dripped out and old photographs were encrusted. Ink stains dripped down the body like a cruel black rain. She couldn't stand to look at the thing - its blank glass eyes staring white and unseeing right through her. "And you! I HATE you!" she hissed at her creation, wanting to smite it like a vengeful god. She threw the drop-canvas back over the top of the figure, storming out of the room.