A Painting IRL (Part 1)

While I usually stick to non-fiction writing on this blog, I thought I would try out something new and get back into the habit of writing per se. This is a revamp of my childhood obsession to pen down my fantasies in my diary, but this time everyone can read it! Whoopie! (read that sarcastically)

The year 1938

The darkness is completely, well, dark. I don’t know, I’m just two months old. There was just this tiny sliver of light coming from a street lamp outside. One of the guards just walked past me, rubbing something within his palm. I can only imagine it was to relieve the itch. He peered out into the window at the far end of the big room, his brows scrunched into… suspicion, or confusion maybe? He might also be looking for someone as far as I know. But then a loud sound came from outside, like an engine vrooming and stopping. A man in a coat came inside and went up to the guard. They started to speak in some really strange language. I haven’t learned all the languages yet, and I only know a few words of English from the chatter around me. Somehow I could feel this discussion was very serious.

The man handed the guard a small parcel in that brown thing you usually pack your things in. Cardboard, was it? The guard turned on the lights near the entrance, took the parcel and opened it. After counting some green papers, he nodded and showed the man in the coat the way inside. The man in the coat walked discreetly to the room opposite where I was hanging. He closed the door, and then silence. I saw nothing, heard nothing. After what felt like an eternity, the man came out with another fellow painting under his arm! That wasn’t good. I tried to ask the painting what just happened, but all I could muster was “Where? What? Okay?” I swear the painting gave a cold stare at me through the darkness and muttered “Idiot!”.

I did not catch the man’s face though, but he had a strange beard that was too different not to notice. He took one glance at me and moved on through the door, never to be seen again inside the hall. What had just happened? Was this….a theft? Blasphemous! Inexcusable! To be treated like a piece of property to trade hands, when were we stooped to that level? The guard turned off the lights and went back to sleep on his chair, snoring away a few minutes later. He didn’t even notice that the man had left the door open, and I couldn’t wait for someone the next morning to notice it…

Continued in Part 2

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