Painting Life

T w e n t y - N i n e

Dedicated to @pretty-lady a.k.a Aisha Aslam for sticking with me through out the story. Thank you, Aisha, for your votes and comments. You make me smile :)

<< Sometimes strangers are the only ones who can make you feel better >> 

Twenty Nine | Browbeaten by the cruelties of Real Life 

H a r i s:

"This is our house," Allison announced, gesturing towards the messy living room. Clothes were thrown around aimlessly and empty boxes of juice laid casually on the table as if they were the most natural thing around here. 

I loved how cozy the room looked - in all it's glory - and how the love in it seemed to radiate or how it was so welcoming to anyone who wanted to find home. 

"Perfect." I blurted out the only word that came to my mouth and eventually realized how true it was because this was the place I had been searching for. A place where I could dump all of my problems and not be worried because the love in it, conquered it all. 

Evan chuckled, "Thou speaks the truth, Master." 

Allison rolled her eyes and shoved him not-so-leniently, "Stop with the Shakespeare references. You don't even read his works." 

He shrugged, "I didn't know it was a Shakespeare reference." 

"I didn't either," Allison blinked, a small smile brightening her face altogether. 

"Did you?" Evan turned to me. 

"I don't read Shakespeare." I shrugged. 

"Damn." He sighed. 

They were weird. Very weird -  considering how they blinked when I said that and how baffled they looked even though it was nothing to worry about. I guess, they were just naturally worrying people; after all, they had cared enough to help me out of my screwed up life. 

But the truth was: I had to go back sometime and it burned, harshly tainting my skin black. Neither my heart nor my brain seemed to agree to the idea of going away. I was too lily-livered - as I had always been - to face the reality. 

Truthfully, no one really doted on reality. It was like a clap of thunder or the lightening; because when it struck, it made our hairs stand to their ends and sometimes, destroyed us with their power. 

The room had grown substantially quiet and as I stared at the ground, I concluded that the couple was observing me. Sure enough, when I looked up, their gazes were fixated on me. 

"What?" I asked - I admit - a little irritably. I hated how my heart made me do these things to hurt others. 

Evan looked amused, "You just spaced out for a while there. And well, you were kind of drawing patterns on your thigh with your finger. I have to say, kiddo, you got quite the talent." 

"How can you know-" 

"He's an artist, too." Allison announced proudly. "Remember that painting named Frightful Consequences by Anon? That's actually Evan's. It's in the central museum of British." 

My eyes widened. I remembered the painting; the smooth brush strokes, the abstract lines, the shades. Each little content spilling out a different story. The painting was beautiful, without a doubt. 

"Why did you remain anonymous?" I asked curiously. "Didn't you want to let people know that you painted all that? Didn't you want them to be proud?"

He smiled slightly. "I was afraid that I would turn in to one of those artists who painted for fame. The ones who wanted people to come to them and ask them to make their portraits. The ones who painted only for the beautiful comments of all those people. Who wanted to be noticed. So I remained anon. There's not even a slim chance of me, being drugged with the delights of fame."