Flash Fiction by Edie Arks

The Marks

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Prompt #5: A painter discovers that the images they paint are becoming real, blurring the lines between their art and reality.

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When Ştefan was awoken at 5AM by a frantic phone call from Enzio, he didn't immediately fly into a rage. No, he kept his shirt on. Months of therapy had told him he was not his temper, he was above it.

But not even years of therapy could prepare him for when he opened the door to Enzio's studio.

The painter was sitting on his couch with his hands on his face, one leg shaking in distress. Behind him, a herd of sheep clad in wolf pelt was turning his kitchen inside out. Dozens of wood sprites buzzed above his head, each one wearing rags for clothes and holding tiny axes in their hands.

"Enzio, what the chickens is going on here?"

The artist hung his head and groaned. "Everything I paint is coming alive... Old ones, new ones, all of them."

A ridiculously short explanation. Ştefan was expecting answers to the what, how, and why, but Enzio was evidently out of his mind.

"I... can't tell if this is bad or not," Ştefan fixed his collar anxiously, only to realize he had worn his shirt backwards.

"I paint satire, Ştefan. Everything I make is bad—"

Enzio suddenly cut himself off, and the only word his guest caught from his indistinct muttering afterwards was the word marks.

Realization struck Ştefan next like a punch in the gut. Of course, The Marks!

The Marks was a seemingly innocent portrait of a family of four. The only unconventional things about this family were that they had metallic silver skin, and the letters M and K were painted in huge letters on their necks like a brand. Their volatile nature induced Enzio to initially titling them Nuclear Family. He eventually decided to change it as it was, according to his agent, too on-the-nose.

The Marks which, as of that moment, hung on a wall at La Galleria di Arte Contemporanea.

"I have no idea how this is happening, but if there's any chance that they're also alive..." Enzio ruffled his hair in agitation. "Listen, I can't take any risk. We need to get it back now."

For a minute, the men stood and stared at each other. It was evident that one wanted to stay within the law, but his friend's eyes were suggesting otherwise.

Ştefan sighed. "As your agent, I cannot let you steal from the gallery."

"As a friend?"

And that was how Ştefan, once the most lawful citizen of Rome, became a criminal accomplice.

A car ride and another banter later, the two acquaintances found themselves in front of the gallery's grand entrance. Per their haphazard plan, Ştefan was to approach the night guard and tempt her with small talk to stave off any suspicion.

Meanwhile, Enzio dashed past walls of paintings to hunt The Marks down. A sudden movement from the corner of his eye halted him in his tracks.

A woman's foot was protruding out of a wall. As he moved closer, another foot— this time of a girl's— appeared beside it, slowly making their way out of the canvas.

"Merda!"

In one determined leap, Enzio knocked the painting off from its place and down to the ground. Muffled screams broke out from under the painting as it jerked violently before falling still.

Almost instantly, footsteps came rushing towards him and Ştefan's familiar frown rounded the corner.

"Did you find it?"

The painter grabbed the edge of the fallen frame and pulled it up for Ştefan to see.

Two of the Marks were still missing.

"I need you to find the dad and put him back in. I'll look for the boy." Enzio instructed concisely, handing the incomplete painting to the agent. "Just don't tick them off."

Surprisingly, it didn't take long for Ştefan to find Mr. Mark. He was snoring in a common space with yesterday's newspaper sprawled across his chest. The only challenge he posed now was his volume; this was a very fat man, and his apparent metallic build just made the task more troublesome. Hoisting the frame above the sleeping giant, Ştefan very quietly moved the canvas in a way that fitted Mr. Mark's size and slowly absorbed him in.

Just as he was about to finish, he heard shouting from the opposite end of the hallway. Giggles and patters of small feet came after, followed by heavier footsteps. Sensing an opportunity to ambush, Ştefan quickly crouched behind a wall and started counting down.

Trei.

Enzio's shouts rebounded off the walls as he chased the boy down the passage towards him.

Doi.

He gripped the frame even tighter, holding his breath.

Unu.

With a roar, Ştefan dove into their path and braced for impact.

At the other end, Enzio watched in pleasant surprise as the unsuspecting boy plunged into the painting at Ştefan's ambush. Before he could celebrate, the little boy planted his steel feet firmly in the ground, and began to yank himself out again. The agent, now at the edge of his patience, lifted the painting and swung it from side to side while cursing under his breath.

But swing as he may, swing as he might, the youngest Mark endured every little of Ştefan's spite. And he was starting to glow.

"He's turning a little red!"

Right then and there, an idea hit Enzio and he hurriedly assumed a sprinter stance.

"Ci penso io!"

Ştefan didn't like that he could only presume what the artist was about to do, but he immediately stepped to the side of the canvas and held it upright, like a matador waving his red flag.

And just like a matador's opponent, Enzio charged, head first, towards the escaping boy and rammed him back into the painting. His momentum carried him right through the linen, effectively destroying his own masterpiece as the painter landed with a thud on the other side of the frame.

Ştefan quickly knelt beside Enzio to check on him, but all he heard was the man laughing.

"I think it's a good time to retire."

The agent shook his head with a chuckle. "Not today, frate. We've got paintings to catch!"