Trapped Artist

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic


Taking life out of a painter.

Submitted: November 05, 2017

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Submitted: November 05, 2017

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He paints his heart out. Every day of his life he placed his passion and love for this one piece. He calls it a work of art, hidden from the world he keeps it as close as possible. He plays with the colors and paints what he calls LOVE. Love is no person, love is no feeling. He calls his own existence love. He calls his talent and the devotion for painting his LOVE. Not only it took time for him to paint it but the decision of making something out of simplest lines was a big task. So, what could’ve portrayed beauty better than full of bling woman. He used every color and gave all he had in himself to see it come to existence. He hides it from the people who don't have a soul and are heartless, covers it with a white silky cloth that shines through the night making the moon seem dull. He believes in this thing of beauty more than anybody in the world. Knowing what the cruel world could do to it he never displayed what he keeps inside his heart.

Every night in his world when everybody sleeps he dreams and lives with his eyes closed. Lives all the possibilities he could have with his love. This woman in the painting comes to life and walks towards him, every night dressed in a white silk cloth with her golden blond hair flowing and her sharp blue eyes gazing him. With her pulpy red lips and her perfectly edged body she moves like air without anybody contaminating her. They dance throughout the night through the meadows and from the stars, the gleaming light moves with them with all the blooming goodness of the purple tulips. He moves along with her like they are made for each other, fitting in each other’s curves and forming a world of their own.

Like every tale of love, there comes a night when all is glittery and beautiful, they are making memories of their own but suddenly all this sparkle fades away. The mad world he had been hiding from, thunders themselves in and ruin his bubble. The sound and the horror they create takes away his only place of serenity. He could already see his world falling apart in front of his eyes.  They are vicious and dark just like the souls trapped within them. They ruin his small world and destroy every possibility of another birth of his love. The pure white canvasses which he made by sacrificing his little moments of rest staying awake all night getting destroyed within split seconds. The smooth, soft and flawless brushes which he considered last of his fortune breaking and burning as he blinks his eyes. Even the dust of ashes was far to be seen.

Dragged to a corner lifeless he waits patiently to die. All his world, belongings and art ends. He is a broken tape recorder, stuck at a specific moment repeating it all again and again in his words and in his eyes. Nobody let him live inside his 4 walls, his passion was nothing but revolutionary, so they had to stop him from being superior and they did. But what nobody realized was that it was his only way to survive in this disgusting unbearable world, he had planned to paint through the life to live. They caged him. They would never know what they did to him but wrecked is a simple word. The people who would never let the world be happy win while the ones who could be a change die in the darkness which took place by no longer having a way out of this harsh reality of cold hearted mindsets.


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