The Painting

Chp 1: Stranger

Chapter 1: Stranger

Isabel's P.O.V.

The dust tickled my nose and I once again fought the urge to prop open the door and air out my cabin.  I focused all my attention on the painting I was working on thinking "This could be it!" My nose bothered me, but I ignored it while taking alternating sips of the stale coffee in my hand. 

"One more color, and I should be finished with this portion. Ive already used red, black, and white..perhaps a grey next?" Just as I was contemplating this I sneezed and my brush stuttered leaving a streak of unwanted red on the page.

"Dammit!" Angry and stressed I threw the reject across the room and collapsed onto the chair. My hands were aching from days of painting and the sleeves of my long, frumpy shirt were crusted onto my wrists with pigment. As I attempted to peel back my sleeves, I looked up at the worn ceiling of the place I called home.  The small cabin had only one room with a small kitchenette in the corner and although it was little was homey. The small futon I had was stowed away, along with a few blankets. The light I used to paint with came from the skylight above my head, which was actually my favorite part about thee cabin. It reminded me of when Jason and I would dream about having a mansion filled with skylights, so that we could look up at the stars where ever we were.

Night fell and my eyes did not waver from the sparkling winter sky that I could see above me. I always used painting as a creative outlet, but after Jason passed away it has become more of a way to stow away my pain. Because of this, my paintings no longer held the innocence and beauty that Jason fell in love with. Massaging my temples I slowly sat up from the chair and sighed, "Could this day get any worse?"

God must have heard my remark and been in a humorous mood. Without warning my door that had been locked for days flew open to reveal a massive man. I gasped and then screamed as I saw the blood that dripped from his shoulder and onto the wood floor.

"Help me..." The man gasped before collapsing from blood loss

I must have stared for hours not knowing what to do, before I finally forced my legs into motion. Knowing I would never be able to carry such a mountainous man with a hurt shoulder I decided too take care of his wound first.  He was clasping his shoulder so that helped to stop the blood flow and grabbing various supplies from my cabinet I pried his hand off his shoulder and inspected the wound. I ripped off the arm of his shirt and was surprised by what I saw. This man was shot! My mind raced with questions, but I ignored them and cleaned out the wound, before wrapping it securely. 

The man splayed in front of me was nearly four times my weight and I was not sure how to carrying him to my futon. FInally a light bulb went off in my head and I went to grab a rope, tying it first around my waist and then around his unhurt arm I started to "climb" using all of my legs strength so that I could get him on the futon, which I had laid out.  At the end I was nearly on my knees with the effort, and had rope burn around my hips, but I finally had him laid out somewhat comfortably.

I started a fire and covered him with blankets to keep him from the winter's freezing temperatures. Once that was done, I sat next to him as my mind raced with questions.

Why was this man shot?

Is he a criminal?

Should I call the police?

I scoffed at the last question. How would the police get out here in the middle of nowhere? Especially with so much snow covering the forest?

Wait...Then how did HE get here?

Mysterious....Just like Jason's poetry was.