It was a warm night in Arles. The town was bustling with workers unwinding after a long day; artists looking for muses, and aristocrats finding new ways to spend their money. In a way, I was looking to spend money too, but I worked on a ship that was delayed a couple of days due to unforeseen repairs. I took out a cigarette and made my way to a cafe to meet someone for a late-night meal. Cafe la Nuit stood at the center of town, its yellow facade and glow of the gaslights played against the deep blues of the night. I took a seat at one of the outside tables and ordered a cognac. I took another drag of my cigarette as I looked around. I would be remiss if I said that I won't miss this place. It had a vibrancy that was unparalleled, pure creativity oozed out of its pores and was carried by the beautiful breezes of the countryside. The waiter came back with my drink and asked if I wanted to order my food. I decided to wait a bit more for my companion before ordering.
While I was waiting, I took out my journal and scribbled a few notes about this place. I looked up to see if my companion was coming when I noticed someone on the far end of the cafe. He was painting on a canvas, his hair blending in with the lamplight. I wonder what he saw as he looked at his canvas. I wondered how the world looked through his eyes. Some time had passed and my companion still hadn't come. I decided to order one last drink for the road. I walked by the painter and got a glimpse of the painting.
The painter managed to capture the cafe...but better, what it could be. It was like the universe was in his eyes and poured onto the canvas.
YOU ARE READING
Notebook Scribbles
Short StoryThis is an ongoing compilation of short stories that come to mind every so often and does not fit a long-form narrative. I hope you enjoy! 1. My First Death- what happens when you lose the passion for the goal you have been working towards your who...
