Painted Windows

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic
The old lady, the young boy, and a room full of living paintings.

Submitted: August 22, 2014

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Submitted: August 22, 2014

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Wyatt entered the lady's house. He stepped slowly, taking in what he saw. The lady that had led him was still smiling. Her deep brown skin shone in the light of a skylight that adorned the center of the ceiling. Smooth, sloping, detailed arches swept upward into the ceiling. A hundred bird perches swung from around the skylight. They were empty and cobwebbed.

A smooth, wood floor stretched before him, leading into a house that had an almost ancient air about it. Several rooms branched out to the side of the hallway, and a yellow painted kitchen was leaning against a wall. The house was void of windows and lights, though for some strange reason, it was lighted.

Wyatt took a few hesitating steps. "Come...have some cookies" Smiled the old woman. Her smile lines crinkled and her eyes sparked. Wyatt nodded his thanks and seated himself at a cracked wood table. Pulling up an ottoman, he sat. The lady slid a plate of still warm cookies onto the table. Wyatt took one quickly. He was so hungry.

He bit into the treat, and the warm, gooey, sweetness melted in his mouth and spread over his whole body. He took three more and scarfed them down. Then, he realized his failing manners and sat up straighter. Taking a napkin from the middle of the table, he dabbed at his lips. Scooting his chair back, he nodded his head. "Thank you very much for the cookies ma'am, but I really must be going." She smiled, hands folded neatly on the table. A beautiful, woven cloth was wrapped around her whole body like a tunic.

"If you must" She replied. He turned to leave, but what he saw took his breath away.

The walls were lined with paintings. Beautiful, vivid paintings. His eyes went from the one of the windswept moor, to the one portraying a busy city. The paintings lined the hall both ways. It seemed as if the vibrant pictures would come alive and begin to move. He stopped in front of one showing a single deer bounding over a dry landscape. He brushed his fingers over the canvas. "Ah...you like that one?" The lady startled him. She had come over there so quietly.

"Many good adventures." She sighed, like she was remembering a close friend. "Look over here." She walked over so that she was standing before a bustling city. "Many fun times." She pointed to a heavily painted resuraunt with the title "Nino Mexican Food". "My very favorite" She proclaimed with a nod of her head.

"You mean, you have been to the place that the artist painted" Questioned Wyatt, not daring to believe the other suggestion that had creeped into his head. The lady didn't answer. She just walked to another one, deep in shadow.

A horse with six legs reared across the painting. "I ride many times." The lady whispered. "Until fall stop me from returning." She hung her head. Wyatt tripped over his words.

"Y-you mean that...that...you can go into the paintings? The lady just gave him a look. It was like she was saying Duh, everyone can. Her dark eyes blazed. "Can I go in one then?" Wyatt mumbled. The lady took his hand in her dark wrinkled one and led him to another painting.

In this one was a stern man in front of an American flag. A stiff army coat covered him, and blue penatrating eyes seemed to follow Wyatt. "Father." He choked. Rushing forward, he placed his palms on the canvas, staring into his eyes.

Suddenly, he turned to the lady. "How did you-" She shushed him with a stubby finger over his mouth.

"Take it." She said clearly. She reached up and unhooked the picture. She held it in her hands for a moment, and then snapped. The man blinked.

"Did he just?" Wyatt exclaimed. The man stretched and yawned. With a satisfied grunt, he scratched his head. Wyatt turned with shining eyes to the lady. The woman stretched her arms and handed the painting to him.

"Careful." She warned. "Don't get lost." Wyatt nodded his head. With a smile, he thanked the woman and carried the painting out the door.

The woman smiled to herself and looked toward the painting of the deer. Her eyes softened, and she was still. She imagined the smell of the grass, and the heat of the sun. Suddenly, with a flash, she was gone. In the painting that she had been looking at, was a dark old woman touching the velvety nose of a wild deer.


© Copyright 2017 Stephanie Young. All rights reserved.

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