Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 75195 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75195 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Now, it only served to remind me of what was lost.
My hands, once sure and deft, now hung limply at my sides, paralyzed by the void within.
Okay. That’s enough. Come on. Paint something anything. A car. A fucking flower. Anything!
I picked up a brush and ran my fingers along its bristles. It was like holding the hand of a lost lover, but the warmth was gone, the spark extinguished.
I could. . .paint. . the sky.
I dipped the brush into cerulean blue and watched the pigment cling to the bristles.
I couldn’t even bring the brush over to the canvas. Even the image of a sky had shifted to a foggy, elusive dream.
And, there the canvas remained. . .untouched and pure white. . .mocking me.
What the fuck?!
I set the brush back down.
You have got to be kidding me. I do not have fucking artist’s block.
My mind went blank.
Goddamn it.
Unsure of what else to do, I returned to my restless pacing.
Alright. Let’s figure this out.
My mind spun into a whirlpool of questions and confusion.
Meanwhile, that damn blank TV screen taunted me.
It’s one stubborn woman. Just forget about her.
But, I couldn’t.
Nova had done something to me in our brief time together that I could not explain.
My throat went dry.
What was it? Why is she different than the rest?
A million questions filled my mind, but no answers came back.
Once again, I stopped pacing and directed my view to the TV screen.
What is she doing right now? No. Stop it.
With a heavy sigh, I looked away from the dark screen and returned my gaze to the white canvas.
Get back to the art. That has never let you down. But. . .
There I stood in haunting silence, lost and adrift, on the edge of understanding yet miles away from the truth.
I’ll just. . .paint. . .and not think of anything. The brush will make the final decision.
I couldn’t think of a better idea.
Yes. That’s what I will do.
I nodded and picked up a new brush.
Honestly, all I have to do is just touch the canvas. That’s the problem. Something will come.
My heart thundered with sudden inspiration.
Alright. What color will I begin with?
The tight knot in my chest loosened, replaced by a rush of excitement.
There we go, Tristan. You are returning.
I chuckled to myself.
No woman could ever take my passion for art away. No matter how pretty.
Grinning, I dipped my brush in brown, coating the bristles with that rich, earthy hue.
Ah yes. I feel the inspiration. Something is coming. It’s right there.
Letting out an exasperated breath, I began with bold, sweeping strokes of brown onto the canvas. The contact was electrifying.
Alright. Let’s dance, my love. What shall we create today?
Instantly, I felt alive with purpose.
An unseen force guided my hand.
Yes. Yes.
The brown flowed, swirling and dancing under my touch, forming shapes and shadows. It was a whirlwind of creativity, a storm of emotion, and I was lost in it, consumed by the sheer joy of creation.
Fuck yes.
As the minutes passed, I dipped my brush in other shades of brown, going crazy on the canvas. A shape began to emerge, contour and lines converging into a face.
Okay. Good.
I added more brown, mixing it with a touch of red and a hint of gold.
Alright. Finally.
Slowly, I brought the features to life.
My heart raced while my hands were guided by a passion I hadn’t felt all evening.
The face was becoming real, tangible, a living entity on the canvas.
I began working on the eyes, and that was when something shifted in my chest.
No. Don’t stop. Push the doubt away.
But as I continued working on the eyes, a chill slipped down my spine.
No. No.
I leaned back, my brush suspended in mid-air, my eyes widening with dawning realization.
Nova?
The face I was painting, the eyes that were staring back at me, it was her gaze, her expression, her fucking essence, captured in the brown hues that had spilled from my soul.
Goddamn it!!!
Horror washed over me.
How did I paint her and not realize it? What is going on in my fucking head?
I stumbled back.
The brush fell from my trembling fingers and clattered to the floor.
The room spun.
The initial joy of creation was now replaced by a gaping void of shock and disbelief.
I stood there, frozen, staring at the half-finished portrait, the face of Nova looking back at me.
A silent accusation.
A haunting reminder.
How did I do that?
The questions swirled, but the answers were elusive, hidden in the shadows of my own mind.
I couldn’t paint anymore and I damned sure couldn’t look at the canvas.
I just need. . .a break. That’s it.
I left the studio. To remain in there would be to force my mind to grapple with whatever Nova had done to me.
I’ll try again tomorrow.
The door clicked shut behind me, leaving behind the unfinished portrait and the unspoken words.
I can’t believe that.
Outside my studio, the staff moved around doing their usual tasks, each one absorbed in their particular role.