Pieces of a Masterpiece

11: Short Story

Pained Arts

The flashing lights infront the cameras were blinding my sight. I could not see something but the white light and the chaotic noises around me. There were chaters and applause.

"Corrine Delos Santos, what inspires you to make a masterpiece?" someone asked. I just smiled with an idea flashed into my mind. I have reached this far and I could not imagine myself without the past.

The past two years had been tough but without it, I would never had a chance to step on this stage. As I closed my eyes defying the flickering lights, I couldn't help myself but to reminisced those times.

TODAY'S FRIDAY the thirteenth. Car honked, the busy streets accomodated the large number of feet. From the balcony of our penthouse, I sipped my morning coffee as I observed the different paces of people. The so called cursed day seemed nothing to the residents of Mantawi, so as for me.

There was a man in black coat who consciously looked his watch every second as he crossed the pedestrian. A woman on her nurse uniform with exhausted look, carried  a pile of hospital worn-out garments. A little kid whose lips were curved and hands were tightly gripped on his backpack, excited for school.

In a moment, a better idea idea flashed my mind. I hurried inside my room and pulled a set of acrylic paint and canvas from my drawer. My move was halted by an ache on my upper arm. I almost forgot I had a swelling bruise under my soft sweater. The door then clicked closed as I approached the balcony again. As far as I wanted to ran again, I couldn't.

The canvas and the set of coloring materials alone made me breathe- away from the physical pain I felt. I glanced at the street again, as I stroked every detail of its architecture. The busy people who were stucked on a traffic and cars  at rest were featured on my art. My hands were tainted with colors which made me glee in silence. With just my palette and creative hands, I could turn nightmares into daydreams, I could finally give a light color to my horrors. I put the paintbrush and my palette down and tied my hair into a bun. It's almost nine in the morning and I only had a few minutes for a 10 am job.

"A masterpiece," I muttered as I looked at my canvas and compared it with the busy streets. Very much alike.

The guard greeted me with his furrowed eyebrows. "Again, Mrs. Delos Santos?" he asked unsurprisingly as he saw me in long sleeves again.

I just smiled back. "It's a pleasure for me."

He just shook his head in disbelief.

Almost everyone in the city knew my story. Who wouldn't be? The loud thuds and my mourn every night bothered them. They were once our audience and my advisers but none of them succeeded. There's no advices, quotes or instances that would change my mind. I have still chosen the path I wanted-- more likely I am used to walk with.

"F-food," a kid begged along my way. His right hand held his grunting stomach while the other palm opened for mercy.

I bent to leveled him. "How old are you?" I asked in awe. He's too young to experience how cruel the world was. He put down his hand and started to count with his fingers.

"S-Seven," he answered with his hands forming a number seven. I checked my lunch bucket and gave my fried fish and a whole cup of rice.

"Here." I smiled. The world may be cruel for him but we could still make a better place out of it.

"T-thank you," he mumbled as he grabbed the pack away from me. My sight automatically followed the poor boy and I found him sharing the food I had given with the other steet children.

Generosity had not faded amidst this time.

"Your heart awe for poor little kid? When will you pity yourself Corrine?" a familiar baritone voice had interrupted and ruined my morning.