Tragedy of the Painter

Sam walked from the store to his home as the sun began to set, determined to make the most of the rest of his day, despite his last few months of failure. He had spent what was remaining of the little money he had on supplies and some simple meals to get him through the week.

On his way through town, he was rarely stopped and spoke to no one. At times he felt maybe the strangers could sense that he was a good-for-nothing. That he had no money to beg for, or nothing useful to offer. But maybe that was his only imagination. 

On the last stretch through the market, carrying his heavy bags, he slowed to gaze at a food merchants cart, which was selling what smelled like delicious meats. Not paying attention to the road any longer, only wondering if he could haggle the price down with the vendor, Sam stumbled directly into another man walking the street, dropping paints and cans of linseed oil on the ground. The man quickly helped him pick up the things, looking unusually shocked by the situation and apologizing profusely. But Sam on the other hand (after being sure nothing was lost or spilt) was only shocked by the sight of the man. He was overwhelmingly handsome. Tall with honey blonde hair like gold threads to frame his pale skin, and sharp features. Sam felt his breath catch in his throat. What a fine man to be a model for me, Sam thought painfully, wishing he had the courage to ask something so bold. And the man continued to apologize in Sam's silence. Finally after much assurance Sam convinced the man that all was well and there was no need to fuss over the accident any more, but the stranger, still feeling sorry, offered to help him carry his thing back to his home.

They spoke casually about the weather, and the neighborhood, and eventually Sam found himself talking for an exceedingly long time about his inability to paint anything that anyone would actually buy. He was embarrassed to say such a thing, but he found himself spilling out all his worries to the man, because he was kind and patient when listening. When they arrived at Sam's home, he felt sad to simply send him out, and still secretly wanted desperately to ask the man to let Sam paint him. But he only invited him for tea. For now.

He finally learned the man’s name, Christopher, who was visiting family in the area while there was trouble at his home. He did not say what kind of trouble, and Sam didn’t ask. While serving the tea, Sam explained that he thought Christopher was a special kind of person. A beautiful person. Not everyone was so lucky, and Christopher must be asked to model for paintings all the time, and it must be such a hassle for him! But Christopher, looking thoroughly embarrassed, admitted that he had never had any portrait done of him, let alone been asked to model for one. Which Sam was happy to take as an invitation to pull out his supplies and start right away, lighting candles all around them to get as good lighting as possible not wanting to miss this chance.

It was now far later than he had intended to make the man stay, but the painting was done. Though rushed, it was easily leagues above anything Sam had ever painted, almost scarily so. He begged the man to come again when he could, and Sam would pay him anything he could to thank him for his help. Christopher smiled and told him that helping a friend was payment enough and promised he would come back as soon as he could.

That painting sold for more than Sam could ever have dreamed. He had food in abundance for the first time in many many months, he was able to make repairs on his home, and buy clothes with no holes. But most importantly, he made a very close friend. Christopher did come back, and upon hearing how well the first painting had sold, and how healthy and well Sam was living, he happily sat down for another, and many more to follow. The paintings themselves were quite the phenomena. While Sam had been a professional painter for many years, his works were often stiff or lifeless, or simply boring. But Christopher could have inspired artists totally void of talent to create masterpieces, and Sam did just that. Months they spent together, talking of their lives and loves and families and such. Sam created flawless pieces one after another, and they grew closer, spending more and more time in Sam's studio, chatting over tea and snacks. Some days Sam thought he might even enjoy Christopher's company than he enjoyed painting.

On one trip to sell off a few paintings he had recently finished, he was introduced to Madam Ann Louise, who he assumed was another pretentious art collector looking to screw him for as many as she could get her hands on. Like most art collectors were. But he was surprised to meet a very frail and feeble old lady, who could barely walk to greet him. She asked him many probing questions about his paintings and the man in them, claiming to know who he was. Tired and beginning to feel defensive of his loved one, he demanded to know who the lady was and how she knew the man. With much pain in her eyes, she told him that he had been her son, who had died nearly 30 years ago. Sam was not sure whether to be offended or amused by the woman, so he simply ignored her.

But the next time Christopher came to visit, Sam left his painting supplies put away, and they ate together only for each other's company. The money had done Sam well, and the only thing he needed to long for anymore was the attention of his friend. Sam asked Christopher if he would consider staying with him in the small town, so they could spend all their time together. Their meal was interrupted by an intruder. The old hag who Sam had met was back, screaming and wailing of witchcraft and the devil, damning them both to hell. 

“My dear friend and my closest companion, I knew the time would come because your paintings are far too beautiful to not be renowned across the world. I fear now I will never come back again, but I hope you’ll never forget me” 

Sam would hear none of it, and promised that the woman would never bother them again, that he would hire guards, or move them somewhere, anywhere, where they could be together. But Christopher was gone, and he did not return.

Sam really did try his hardest. Failure after failure, he could no longer create another masterpiece without his muse. Madam Ann Louise came to visit him one last time, to apologize that her son had cursed him, tricked him with his beauty and persuasion. She promised that he would never come to torment Sam again, for she had personally watched them stake his corpse into his coffin so could never walk the earth again, he was truly dead for the last time. 

Upon hearing this devastating news, Sam realized he would never paint again. That there was nothing left in this world worth painting anymore. He wondered if at least in death they could finally be together. Or if he too would need to be nailed into his coffin, to keep him from rising and walking the streets, hoping to stumble into his love once again.