Artist's Soul

To be an artist, one must feel, to the point you feel to much.

Monday, November 18, 2013

Lost Paradise: Room of Life

So, new story here! This story will be about a room with painted walls so lifelike that it is almost living, and a young girl who will find the room. To keep this short, and to not give away anything, I hope you enjoy it!
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178 Ridden Street, Gradden Town, New York. It was the average kind of house you would expect to find in a place like Gradden Town. Not truly countryside yet, but definitely not city style either. In-between, average, simple. The house was a gentle, soft, delicate baby blue with a pale, silky cream color accentuating the edges. It was two stories tall, with a one story tall section protruding out of the house. Dusty gray curtains with slightly darker shadow like imprints of flowers were drawn back at each of the long, tall windows that reached from the floor to the ceiling. The colors of spring, full of life, merged in with the vibrant, bold colors of fall in the garden surrounding the house. Birds hidden in bright green chatted about the latest on the grapevine while butterflies fluttered from the many, many, many groups of sweet smelling, eye catching flower bunches, greeting each one one with an open embrace. Honey bees buzzed in circles around the yard, humming cheerful tunes to themselves. There wasn't a garage.


Outside of this isolated paradise was a completely different story. The ominous dark, dark gray clouds hung low and damp above people’s heads. Their feet trudged, leaving scrapes that all lead toward the center of the town, where all the towering buildings were. Specifically, the hospital. The town’s most prominent, most charismatic, most loved artist had finally lost light in her eyes. Not even glasses could help her see now. Sure, they all knew that that day had been coming. It had always been there, a terrible, terrible reminder that left a bitter taste in their mouths. They all tried to forget it, and for moments, they had, but one glance at the desk and the post-it note with all their reminders would shove all of the depressing thoughts into their head again.
Marianne Leanna. Pen-name, Lea. She always had preferred that name. No one knew her last name. As the crowd surged wave after wave towards the doctors and her room in the hospital, like the tide beating down again and again on the rocks on a beach, the doctors tried to be heard. But even with such chaos and noise, the message had gotten through. The town’s precious little Lea was officially blind. That last, earth’s core hot fever she had gotten last week seemed to have taken away her eyesight for good. Born with a wavering eyesight, by the time their Lea had reached the tender, ripe age of 21, just when her popularity reached infinity and beyond, her eyesight had been slowly fading. Then, to add to the trouble, her long, countless hours working in secret, on what the townspeople thought would become her greatest masterpiece, in her studio full of chemically filled air caused her immunity to fevers to decline. Thus, here they were now, with a blind master artist and a suddenly dead silent town.

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Whhrrrmp-phmp-phmp-phmp, Whhrrrmp-phmp-phmp-phmp

The rhythmic whir, thump, and cranking noise of an old, worn down car steadily grew louder and louder to the sharpened ears of the blind girl who was occasionally sipping lukewarm hot chocolate while sitting, still as a marble statue, on a golden yellow, wooden porch swing. The birds hopped and the butterflies fluttered about her, but, sadly, their efforts for attention were a failure.

Whhrrrmp-phmp-phmp-phmp, Whhrrrmp-phmp-phmp

The noise was abruptly cut off by a loud, piercing slam of the car passenger side door. A cheerful "Bye Sam!" followed shortly after.
Whhrrrmp-phmp-phmp-phmp, Whhrrrmp-phmp-phmp-phmp
Once more, the car revived its song and trailed away, leaving nothing but the faint smell of car exhaust behind it.

Racing as fast as she could while dragging a bag half her size and a backpack on her that ended almost to her knees, a petite 11 year-old girl ran towards the swing.



"Aunt Lea! Aunt Lea!"

The young girl raced, nearly tripped, and jumped with a loud, echoing THUMP onto the wooden porch. The oak tree boards, long dark and bent from years of use, creaked and moaned in protest of the sudden impact.


The older girl calmly turned her head towards the location of the noise, gazing a cool, calm, empty stare in the vague direction. Smiling softly, she shifted on the swing and patted, with her empty hand the newly cleared space. Beaming happily, the younger girl plopped down and twisted her head to face the older girl, who was once more silently sipping her drink.


Laughing at the energetic young-ling, the older one calmly greeted, "Hello Evangelica. Isn't today a beautiful day?"


A small, sad smile suddenly replaced her grin as she replied, "Yes Aunt Lea. It is. The birds are gossiping again today, and the butterflies are up and about."


Sipping her drink, Lea nodded. "Tell me, Eve, what color is the sky today?" With a sad smile, the child replied, "Oh, it's a luxurious shade of bright blue Aunt Lea. It's one of your favorite blues. The kind that's energetic, but calm, smooth and flowing, and very bold." Nodding again in satisfaction, the older girl slowly got up, and started heading towards the front door. Evangelica immediately jumped to her feet and opened the door for her.

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