The Painter

Magic is a big part of her. It always has been. When she paints the art seems alive, they blink and move around the canvas trapped in their 2D prison cell. It all feels so normal now. Torturous but normal. She likes to paint in shades of red, easier to hide the pain. Her blood soaks through the page, it looks like a massacre. She finds it so beautiful. Her creations are destroyed not long after. Her magic turns brown. The crimson was so much prettier. She gets lost in the magic, perhaps that’s blood loss. Perchance none of this was ever real at all. She knows this isn’t true. She knows what she’s seen and she trusts her eyes more than her brain. Nothing is ever fully real or fully imaginary, everything was once just an idea. It’s all an illusion.

The art proves again that she is real when it asks her a question, this question sticks into her mind thereon. “Why?” that’s all. That’s all it says to her. Why? No one really knows the answer to this question. No matter what the context is the question is almost impossible to answer. Almost. “I like the feeling.” is her only response. It’s short and sweet but brings no comfort. The painting frowns and goes still as the red browns. She sits contemplating its question for a moment. Should she stop? She decides not to and picks up a blade. She paints and paints until her hand is sore.

A boy sits in the canvas. His smile is dark and fake. The red drips slowly from his nose to the grass but she doesn’t bother to fix him. His eyes scream out words she can hardly decipher. A question leaves his bleeding lips “Why?” again… it’s hard to answer this time. She thinks for a moment. “I suppose… I like to paint. It calms me.” she says slowly. It’s a sweet thought but still gives the painting no comfort in his existence. The painting frowns and goes still as the red browns. She continues. The red is soaking her shirt now, staining her once-white sleeves with scarlet. She smiles at the imprint it makes on her soul. She picks up a brush and paints.

A girl this time. She looks sad from the start like she knew what it was the moment she came into the world. Her life is meaningless and she is aware of this fact, there’s nothing she can do to avoid it. The girl looks up as her eyes drip with red. “Why?” she cries. Nothing is worth this. Nothing. “I want to feel.” She states quickly. The girl smiles shortly but does not seem content. She stares for a while until she’s stuck there. The painting frowns and goes still as the red browns. Her hope for this project fades with the pigment. Her life feels so unimportant next to these things.

The next is a witch. A witch much like herself. It has the same thick dark hair, the same pale skin, the same nose, eyes, lips, pain, everything was the same. The only difference is this witch is red. All red. Sheerah herself has thick black hair coming to her shoulders, a tint of pink in her cheeks, brown eyes that shine gold in the sun, and stars in her hair that match the ones in her eyes. She sits staring at the portrait. “Why?” it asks her. For whatever reason the question sticks so permanently in her brain this time around. The question stings her soul and dents her heart in a way she didn’t think was possible until now. Her lungs collapse under her ribcage, under the bones that hug them, cage them inside like a rabid animal. Caged like her heart. “I don’t know!” the words leave her so suddenly like they have been trying to escape for decades… maybe they have. “I just want to feel whole,” she whispers. “I want to feel like I am a part of something greater than myself.” she can’t stop now. A laugh escapes her as her eyes dart up maniacally. “I just wanted some part of me to be beautiful!” she’s shouting again. The painting seems scared and just like the others it frowns and goes still as the red browns.

She sits there staring at the blank canvas in front of her, waiting for something to happen. She hopes for red to fill the canvas as it once did but the point of it all can’t find its way into her mind. She frowns. Completely still. She stays still as the brown paintings, waiting for an answer. Anyone to call to her but nothing comes. Silence fills the world. She lays down on the cold hard floor, still waiting. The red creates a portrait on the ground. The drip used to be her favorite sound. But now… just like the others she feels herself drifting away. She can feel the pain filling her body. She tries to scream but is as silent as the brown. She frowns. Her life is flashing. Her lungs are gasping. This has never felt so wrong before. The pool on the floor creates a face… a smiling face. It’s asking “why?” once again and she wants to shout that she hasn’t a clue but it’s all pointless. As pointless as those paintings. She can not fix the world she’s in by creating a new one in her mind, in the end, they all turn brown and rotten.

The sun comes up to say hello one last time. The light turns her eyes into a pool of gold, she feels rich as it blinds her. She watched from above as the studio shines, she sees the truth now. The paintings so full of color now. Her so full of red. They’re all sad asking “Why?” she still doesn’t know the answer. “I don’t know…” she tries. The words fill the skies like clouds “I wanted to feel whole. To feel one with you all. It never worked and my friends I am so sorry.” The world is bright again and she floats down. She gasps for air. She smiles up at the sky. Her life has just begun.