Beginning of the End
Amber, garnet, canary,
Ash, pebble, Aegean,
The warmth, the comfort, the longing
The coldness, the electrifying, the freedom
All it’s worth nothing but the painted mask
Perception that one holds,
Stirred it into a palette of shades,
Mix it, stir it till darkness shrouds the light
Rain on it, splash on it, burn it
Melted, ruined, scarred and discard
No one would pick it up, no one would patch it up,
Leaving it shattered untouched but ruin,
Only for the soul to cradle and bared it
Until it heals, until it’s save,
Rocking, crying, whimpering,
Holding themselves as the shroud of Orpheus lulled them away.
Cold winter breeze sneak into the open space of the studio. Screeching of metal and crumbling of chipped paint fill the room as my hand keep busy scraping the acrylic off the canvas. It started slowly but my hands keep on moving faster. Up and down, up and down the pattern keeps on repeating. White spot starts to emerge from the hectic colour scheme that was embedded on the canvas. I couldn’t stop, I don’t want to stop. A pair of hand grab onto mine. Holding mine still, never letting me go, stopping me from doing more damage to the already torn canvas.
“It’s okay” his velvety voice wraps around me like a blanket.
His hands move to my shivering shoulders and turning my body around, pulling me closer to his build form hugging and shielding my numb torso. I didn’t have the will to move or say anything as my body and mind lost its will to function, giving up to even breath. The said man pulls me to the nearby couch and sat me there never leaving my side.
“Let it all out,” he whispers once more caressing my tangled locks.
My body starts to shake and crystal droplets begin to spill uncontrollably for the umth time today. He rocks our body gently as he strokes my hair like he used to do when I was upset or depress. Unfortunately, the gesture only coaxes more tears and whimpers. But he kept on stroking, rocking and surround me with his familiar warmth. We stay in that position for hours. My short pants turn to small whimpers and I fell into sleep.
Loud tapping of shoes on the wooden floor wakes me up from my panic lace slumber. Adjusting my eye sight and wiping my face from the dried tears, I glance around the studio only to be greeted back by shadow of the surrounding as little rays of moonlight lit the open space just enough for me to see the scattered paintings. It is just the same, the pictures of sceneries that I painted before. But what caught my eyes was at the corner of every picture I had painted stood a silhouette smiling back at me. Mocking me in some way. The perfect smile, the little wrinkle at the corner of his eyes and the twinkling of the blue irises. Once all were full of shades, hues and highlights of colours now left me blank, dull and miserable.
It started a few months ago slowly but agonizing. At first it was blue. Fading little by little and now all I was left with black, grey and red. I walk towards my once called masterpiece, my prize possession, lifting each one with care. Staking them up into a pile at the corner of my work space. With a flick of my finger everything turns red, hot, glowing, all of them starts to turn into dust and ashes as I fed them to the fire as if they are the offering for the heaven or the hell. Automatically I move closer to the intense heat source like a moth attracted to the flames. Closer and closer, step by step.
“What are you doing?!” a splash of cold water hit me and burn out the majestic glowing flames.
