The sharp clicking of smooth black heels echoed down a rain slicked street through alley ways. Past the string of bars and resturaunts whose painfully bright neon signs bled down onto the black streets creating a swirl of colors resembling a mismatched pool of paints. Sil knew her way to Fiona's gallery well by now, even if blindfolded from the doors of her apartment. It was terrible not having a car in the city, but knowing she would have to make due, everywhere she went she had memorized. Burned into the back of her mind. Rapid sharp clicks followed one another, as if trying to catch up to eachother as she turned corners and hurried up streets. The cold air felt good against her bare slender legs, with only vertical striped, french noir stockings to keep them warm.
Up the street she reached her destination, a small brick layered building whose narrow thick glass windows were almost innoticible in the dense almost green street light. Upon entering, soft noises of conversations and wineglasses filled the room and drowned out the peacefull quiet night left behind when the door shut. Pausing at a mirror, fixing her smooth, mid-thigh length, black dress, which was gathered at the top with a black lace trim she looked around. Never feeling quite comftroble in large crowds, even though there were maybe less than thrity people. Her dark brown hair spilled over alabaster shoulders, her green eyes searched the room. She was always amazed with what Fiona had done with the once empty studio. The room had a red glow from the flush red walls of the gallery decorated with queen victorian love seats and what seemed like a million of Fiona's paintings and photography art strewn about the walls, a few of which she had modeled for. Each painting or photo bore a small gold nameplate. Taking care to notice that it was almost a timeline representing her friend's life and ever changing tastes, never satisified with one thing, and searching for the next. She chose a seat alone towards the back of the room, where neither the red glow or gallery's soft light, nor the eyes of others failed to reach, she sat. Sil crossed her legs which made them look all the more slender, complimented by the vertical stripes. Dry red wine bottles decorated each and every table, but were never taken as a mere decoration, as the gallery patrons quickly emptied the bottles and searched another. Wine seemed to flow free at every art show Fiona hosted. The speech on 'why wine' crossed her mind as she had heard more then a handful of times. Apparently wine went with everything, and was a universal language such as music and art, explained why it always accompanied her shows.
Sil watched the shadows of guests silently feeling almost invisible back in the corner of the room. Taking care to notice faces that had attended some of the previous shows. Happy that she couldn't be seen nor reconized as a few of her three foot black and white photos seemed to loom over the crowd as they hung at thier places. One photo in particular she always took care to notice was the photo of her nude, blind folded and tied up, legs poised and bent at the knee, milky back arching over with shoulders pressed against the floor to support her. Her wrists, upper arms, neck and waist restrained with what resembled black plastic wires. A very difficult photo indeed. Some would obviously misinterpert the meaning of the photo, Fiona's symbol of how the body is restrained in every day life, not only physically but emotionally as well. "How we allow ourselves to be blindfolded by things and life and bound, vulnerable". Sil didn't care much for chatting up any of the more than obvious other artists or curious parties. The unability to understood how some people could spend so much money on art but never truely be able to appreciate it seeing as they never could, unless they had put thier own time, heart, and soul into a piece of work themselves. These art shows were famous among many people if you knew where to look. Advertisements never plastering the side of buildings, or read in the newspaper. This place you couldn't even find unless you knew exactaly where you were going. Word of mouth kept the art shows full with crowds of people. Whispered in the back of coffee houses or perhaps even clubs and bars. The gallery didn't even have a phone number. Fiona didn't even advertise it, those who knew of it came, and those who never had were curious. She always thought she was way too modest when it came to her talent
A familiar body dropped down onto the small red sofa next to her. "This is quite a turn out, I reconize a few faces from last time." Fiona was almost an inch shorter then Sil, with sholder length auburn hair, with prominent features. Her hands were thin but strong, remembering painting sessions where her hands seemed so nimble with a paintbrush. Those hands had created canvases full of art, and taken numerous photos. Some of her favorites where black and white noir photos and even one or two sepia toned ones. With green eyes that always had a light to them, a spark of inspiration when she had an idea. She never sold paintings she did for herself, only paintings or photographs she had done for someone else, someone who was willing to model for the art, and become a piece of what they were buying. Personally Sil had no interest in taking them home, she modeled for the pleasure of it, always admiring her artistic talent, she only wanted to be a part of something beautiful. Taking no money, or anything in return.
"Is it finished?" A question she had asked more than a handful of times.
"Of course."
"You wouldn't even let me see it before I left." With reference to her latest project, accompanied by a smile while taking a small sip of some pinot noir. Maybe she hadn't of seen the reason it always had to be wine, but the free drinks made up for it. Her burgundy stained lips leaving thier print as the glass was set down. Fiona's eyes caught the sight of a man moving, approaching from the center of the room. A thin man in his early thirties clad in a smokey black suit, a black tie with horizontal silvery stripes, and combed back shaggy sandy blonde hair with pale blue eyes. Taking a seat next to them he introduced himself as
"Klien Barculo." Reaching his hand across Sil's lap to shake Finoa's hand. That name sounded familiar to her, placing it from a previous art show about six months ago. Awkward, stuck in the middle, she decided to scoot over towards her friend and looked at the man. The two women noticing the heavy linger of his colonge and the faint smell of scotch. Sil couldn't help but think that Barculo sounded like a drink.
"The pictures and paintings of you are wonderful, I admire an aspiring model who can look so dignified even in the most vulnerable of positions. It's a most powerful photo of you." Motioning towards the black and white photo. Leaning in towards her, his colonge smelled like nothing but alcohol due to it's over use. She thought he must of bathed in the overpriced stuff. His hand snaked it's way somehow to find her knee.
"If I could I would love to use you in a series of photographs I'm planning. I haven't been able to find a model with enough charisma to pull them off." He handed the two tickets to his next show in New York, only a few miles away from the gallery in Manhattan. The tone in his voice was soft and mellow, almost inviting, handing her a business card he stood up. " I hope to see you two there." Almost glad that he had left so abruptly she moved over on the couch. Feeling the linger of his clonge on her dress.
"Not only a well renound art coneseur and an artist, but a pervert as well. There's a reason his models never last." Fiona broke in.
"I think the smell of his colonge is still on me."
Taking a short pausing glance at her, "Come upstairs with me." standing up, she outstretched her hand.
Fiona lead her upstairs to her studio, a place she knew well by now. A large room with bits of paint splattered on the floor, white sheets strewn about and the empty containers of the chinese food they had eaten earlier on. Faintly, a musty smell of dust hung in the almost stale air. The windows upstairs were almost too large to open or shut alone. Looking towards the end of the large room she could see a rather large canvas with a clean sheet draped over it. Her project for the unvailing, ripping the sheet from the canvas to show her. A stunning painting of a red haired woman lying on the floor reaching towards an apple just shy of her reach. Red hair like fire which covered her breasts as she lay twisted at the waist on her side, long thin fingers almost grazing the skin of the cool vividly red apple. The shape of her hip giving her body a long, hungry look, not for substance. The cool white belly of the woman lay flat from her outstretched arm.
"It represents forbidden fruit." Fiona interrupted. The facial features of the woman sharp and distinct, making her looking unknowingly desireable. "Would you help me carry it down?"
Down the stairs in the back they walked, Fiona lifting from behind, and Sil on the opposite end. Down the stairs she noticed the string of small photos horizontal down the staircase, in line with the stairs themselves, one of her decorating ideas. The two women pulled the painting down the remainder of the stairs and back behind a large sheet closing off a certain section of the gallery.
"Why didn't you carry it down earlier while I was here?" Sil asked, a slight strain in her voice from the heavy canvas.
"I only finished it an hour ago." she broke in.
Setting down the freshly finished painting on the gold canvas holder, straighting their dresses the two looked to one another. For the first time that night, she noticed Fiona's thin strapped, long, deep colored, red dress that clung to her curves and ended at her thighs. She never wore many dresses, if any at all, she always looked so cool and casual, even at other art shows. The back of the room must have been too dark to notice.
"What's with the dress?" she inquired.
"I'm finished."
"Finished with.....?" A long pause between them before she answered.
"Well almost, I've painted and taken photos of everything I've ever wanted. All I have left is one more painting I want to add to my collection."
At that moment she couldn't help but think how elegant her friend looked at just that single moment and angle. Maybe this was how she viewed things at just the right moment, when she was sparked with an idea. Fiona's thin fingers wrapped around a cord, Sil took a few steps back out of sight from behind the curtain. Realizing that her question was really never answered. The cord was pulled, and the sheet went up, she was never for introductions, she always said she loved the element of suprise. People in the gallery stopped their conversations and wine tasting to turn around and see what they all had come for. A long pause washed over the room, with the old cliche, so quiet you could hear a needle drop. No one spoke for serveral seconds, which seemed like hours to her. She kept her quiet posture, sure of herself. Was she worried? why was she so tense? she couldn't help but wonder about herself. Or was it her friend's words that made her curious. The words, I'm finished, rang through her mind. At that moment spontaneous applause broke out, echoing over the entire gallery, the sound almost too large for the room itself. Sil's thoughts were distracted as she looked on and over the small crowd. Through the corner of her eye, she could see Barculo. Seeing the look on his face satisfying, satisfied for him to see what true modest talent looked like. True skill you couldn't measure, or sum up in a single fitting word. The crowd was void of the paper's art critics, they never attended these types of affairs. They only knew of large scale events put on my museums and the like. Their words could make or break an artist, the opinions of one single person could more than obviously speak for the world of art in general. One tasteless review could destroy a person, one good, could escalate them to fame or more, a higher society. It was ridiculous what one person's opinion could really do, and how most people like what they are told is "superb" by someone who was no more common than themselves. An opinion is just that, a person's opinion, who were they to say what talent is? They, who had never even picked up a paintbrush, or touched a piece of canvas in their lives. Strongly feeling that there is no scale for a person's talent or worth. What one might find appauling, one might find intriguing. Who is to say a piece of art is bad based on the opinion if you like the color blue or not? It was "artists" like Barculo who came from money, and didn't truely need the opinion of others, but because of his family name, and old money, critics didn't dare jot down an indecent review. She wouldn't be suprised if they even had him read it over to make sure it was acceptable for print or not.
The show didn't last much longer, after an hour of speaking to a few people, everyone left. Sil was suprised to see Fiona so social this eveing for a change. At times, she was suprised she even held these events, seeing as she didn't believe in blind critisism. Dry hallowed out wine bottles littered every table, along with cocktail napkins with simple notes scribbled across them. Some illegible as the ink spread over the soft cloth, an end table by the door was piled with notes and business cards. Sil skimmed through a few of the glossy cards for galleries, city wide art shows, even the card of a local band wanting her to design the cover of a first cd. The cocktail napkins scribbled with small notes from those who heard it from the back of bars or night clubs, people who had came to appreciate, not criticize, complimenting the great detail on her latest work. Thinking sometimes Fiona should enjoy a little of the praise brought on by crowds.
"Hey, did you want to keep any of these? Other then business cards there's alot of compliments."
"Just throw them out with the rest of the trash after we clean up." Fiona's tone casual, and modest as always of course.
Scooping the business cards into a waste basket, she kept the napkins and set them aside. Her friend had always been modest, in the lengthy time she had known her. One of the small downtown coffee shops served as their destined meeting place. Once she thought would it would have been like if she hadn't dropped in for some coffee and quiet. Remembering it was autumn the first time they met, summer just having finished, the weather was cool and comftroble, the perfect time for a hot latte. The world around her orange, red, brown, and gold, mixing into a collage with a favorite season. With a recently bought fiction anthology in hand she recently picked up from a local bookstore, she entered the first least crowded coffee house she saw. The coffee was nice and hot, with alot of the white milk foam, feeling so good to be out of the new, but cluttered apartment. Even earlier that morning she tripped over a box on her way out of the shower. The coffee house was calm and quiet, very few people occupied the tables, and the low hum of ambient music laced with the aroma of fresh coffee laid her nerves to rest, this town might not be so bad after all. Everything felt so refreshing, just being in a new town made her feel new. Nothing wrong with a town where everyone knows you, people you grew up with, family, to name a few. But there was nothing wrong with a town where no one knew you at all. The steam from the coffee floated up into the air around her, swirling before settling into her soft, shiny hair. The anthology book intrigued her, and occupied her attentions so well, that she didn't even seem to notice the stranger who sat down next to her. Not having even noticed till hearing the soft tap of a coffee cup from being set down on the table; her hand was undoubtly empty. She looked at the quiet stranger who sat down next to her, and didn't speak for several seconds. Her own eyes just peering over the paper back book, the woman was quiet, non-threatening, although a little straight foward perhaps. Sil's hand reached for her coffee and took a sip before the woman spoke.
"I hope you don't mind me sitting down here." her words where confident yet innocent. Sil could see the other tables, the obviously empty tables, looking at the woman she wondered what she wanted. Thinking maybe the woman was going to try and pick her up, maybe collecting donations for a charity, or what.
"I'm Fiona" pulling out a card for clientel out of her wallet, she handed it to her "I own an art studio a couple blocks from here". Now that she noticed, the woman did have slight traces of blue paint underneath her fingernails, and a few faint smears across her hands. At this point, she was more intruged at the moment, the card was high quality on photopaper, with a small painting of a woman as the background. Her name embrossed into the thick photo paper in black lettering, Fiona Elaine.
"I'm Sil." Of course her full name was Silvia, Sil always sounded so much better to her.
"Have you lived here a while? I've never seen you, if I had, I would of remembered." Thinking maybe her words were supposed to be mysterious in their own way, seeing as she wasn't coming onto her as she first thought.
"I just moved here from Bergen." Sil's eyes locked onto Fiona's as she started to wonder about the gallery.
"I actually just stopped in for a coffee break from working, I was wondering, have you ever done any modeling for print or paint? I'm doing a series of photographs right now. I was actually looking for someone who could help me with some of the modeling. I've had an ad out in the paper for a week now, with only a few replies." The words that came from the woman suprised her for some reason. She was of course a lover of litterature and art as well, the idea of modeling for paintings or photos interested her.
"I've actually never done any modeling before."
"Would you be interested in trying? If you are, my phone number is on the card." Fiona standing up, she could hear them call her name for her coffee. "If you're interested just give me a call."
As quickly as she had sat down, the woman was gone. Looking over the card again, she rubbed it with her thumb, setting it into the spine of her book in between then pages. It took her almost a week before she called back, almost immediately Fiona had her at the gallery the next day taking photographs reflecting the human form. That same photo hung on the wall with many others of her now, a neutral pose, sitting on her knees with her back facing the camera. Her hair tied up in a fashionable bun to reveal the countours and femininity of her neck and shoulders with her face tilted and angled to show the soft and prominent lines from the side. Fiona had given her black stockings to wear to her mid thigh to heighten the sexual presence in the photo that every human being is capable of. With Sil's hand's positioned around with one around her waist leaving a bare hand to rest on her left hip, and the other resting on her shoulder. The photo revealed form and curve of a woman, something unchanged for thousands of years now. An age old form, that was and would always be. The photo itself never really made her uncomftroble, seeing as she was a woman herself.
It must of taken no more than forty-five minutes before they decided to take a break. The two women sat on the floor together, which suited her fine as they drank steaming hot coffee that her new friend had stepped out to buy. Sil rests the coffee cup on her leg, the robe that she was given to momentarily cover up dulled out the hot sting of the cup. The beams of light that pour through the shutters of the windows almost looks crowded, as if all the light is trying to shine through at once. Only one window remains open, and only because she requested it when she first arrived, seeing as her eyes hadn't adjusted when she first came in. The coffee feels good as it trails down her throat, making a hot, comforting path to her stomach.
"Are all those paintings and photographs downstairs your's?" Asking as she downed another hot swig of coffee. Fiona answering with a quiet nod taking a sip of her own.
"There are more, those are just the ones I did for myself. The other's were done for people who were willing to model for the painting or photo they wanted to buy. There aren't as many of those though. Most people come to me and ask me for something, the best way then can describe it to me is by asking me to paint or take a picture of something pretty for them. Pretty, is a vague word. The ones who do come in and ask, don't want to model for thier own art, they either think they're too short, too fat, not attractive enough. But like I said, pretty is a vague word, and doesn't always mean the textbook definition." That was the first time she had ever heard her speak that way, which began to give her more of an insight into her new friend's perspective.
"To be honest, I wasn't too sure how I would look nude in a photo. I realize, no one is perfect, but I'm sure almost every normal person feels a bit self-concious here and there. Nineteenth century victorian paintings were full of women who by modern day standards aren't considered physically perfect." Her eyes shifted to her as she nodded in agreement with her statement. A quiet smile, before taking another sip of her coffee.
"The media can be an ugly thing. That's why I choose not to advertise." Her words she found out to be more than just true, as she was still yet to see an advertisement.
They sat in silence for a long time after, yet it wasn't awkward, it was as if their silence could say more than just words at the moment. Sil had actually never met anyone who was such a part of their work. It was as if it wasn't exactaly that she wanted to paint, it was more like she had to, on some personal or mental level. Maybe in her own way of trying to get something out, or more respectively, venting. Sil wondered if it even felt like working when she painted and took photographs. It was what she loved and enjoyed, and any income she had was made off of someone else's admiration or vanity. Then again that alone could be enough to supply a comftroble living.
"Why aren't there any self-portraits of photographs of yourself?" Sil asked in between small sips of her cappucino.
"For the sake of vanity; sometimes it's easier to see the beauty and motion of someone or something else, because if you don't truely know them, you won't pass judgement. What develops, develops, and there isn't any picking at small imperfect details because it is exactaly as you saw it. If I or anyone else were to photograph or paint themselves, I'm more than sure they would touch up and fix any of those imperfections just out of habit. Like the way you would fix your hair or smudge of makeup on your skin if it wasn't meant to be there if you passed by a mirror. It wouldn't come out as truthful otherwise." At that moment Sil took notice of Fiona's own features and twists of her body as she was sitting on the floor beside her. Her face became almost blank with a hint of adoration.
"I never thought of it that way, and it's true in everyway." Sil's word's trailed off as she lay her head onto her knees moving the coffee cup to the floor beside her.
Shaking her head out of reminising she finished collecting every card and napkin, leaving all but one on the small red, veiled end table near the door. It's thick paper allowed it to stand against a clean crystal wine glass. The rich ink the word's were written in bled across the paper's fibers making the edges of every letter soft and pleasing. "Life for your art, through blood and sweat." At first she thought the words could be misinterpeted as morbid but after looking at it a second time, it proved to be more than true, fittingly true. The two women dragged out the trash bags filled with papers and empty wine bottles who's potency lingered from inside to the alley in back. They quickly cleaned up the rest of the gallery and sat down on two velvet love seats adjacent from one another with a shared bottle of wine inbetween the two. Fiona lit a small french cigarette and slowly inhaled it's sweet smoke. She always had those on hand and refused to smoke any other type, not even the more expensive brands. She on the other hand didn't smoke, only experimented with it a few years ago when a past lover smoked heavily, which were one of the reasons for their breakup. The eyes of her friend met her own gaze with a chartreuse color to them. Maybe intoxication from too much pungent wine and rich tobacco.
"Here." Removing one of her small perfumed cigarettes from her case, her thin, frail, appearing body leaned over the small table, placing the cigarette between her friend's slightly parted lips and lit it. Sil sat there for several seconds looking at her friend's small quiet expression before inhaling the foreign tobacco. A small cloud of smoke slowly moved from her lips to the empty space inbetween them. It's sweet smell filled the room, lacing itself with the scent of the rich wine. Wanting to inquire why she had given her one she silenced her own thoughts and curious mouth to take another drag. A small smile formed on Fiona's lips as she took another sip of her wine. It's cold dry texture like cranberry juice trailed down her throat making a small cold pool at the pit of her stomach that felt soothing in the warm atmosphere clouded by smoke and alcohol.
Sil placed the cigarette in her hand and looked to her again, "What do you plan to do next? Ever think about holding more showings?" tapping the ashes into a bottle cap left on the table.
"No." The words suprisingly soft and not as harsh or brash as you could think them to sound. Turning her gaze to the photograph of Sil that hung on her wall. "I want you to have the that photo." The two women looked to the six by three foot black and white glossy picture that adorned a rather large space of the gallery's flush red wall. Not completely understanding why she would say or think that. Every piece of work she had ever completed never left the gallery, even with invites to city wide showings.
Taking another drag of the small cigarette "I don't understand. Why?"
"You were the only person who wanted to model for me and let me recreate your image in all honesty with every small detail and imperfection in place. You never sought out any sort of vanity or recgonition even when you were reconized by someone. I think that might be the most true recreation of you that I've ever done, when I first met you. Knowing yourself the way I have come to, I know you don't see it as any type of reward, you modeled for it because you were interested in the aspect, not neccesarly the finished product. It's something I want you to have." Her words had a candid and reassuring tone to them. "In the afternoon you should come by so I can begin my next series." Taking another sip of her wine to smooth over the faint taste of smoke in her mouth, she quietly nodded. The two sat together for a long time after taking in more wine, smoke, and an aesthetically pleasing view filled with more quiet conversation.
Sil hadn't returned home till a little past midnight, the photograph of herself secured in her grasp. Slightly jarred by the strange look one of the more elderly neighbors had given her and her photograph, she didn't particularly care at the momement, either due to the slight intoxicating euphoric feeling she had, or still slightly overwhelmed by what she carried in her arms. Standing infront of a vacant wall in the apartment that had just enough space for the glossy render to cover, wondering maybe she had planned it that way. Feeling too tired and exhausted to want to mount it tonight she layed it against the edge of the couch, kicking off her black heels as she carried herself to the bathroom. The bright flouresent white lighting inside made the matching tile walls begin to glow, light bathing her weary exterior in a sanitizing fashion, almost reminding her of a hospital setting. Running some warm water over thin pale hands and leaving it spill over and fill her cupped palms then splashing it onto her smooth and cool face. She stood there for a silent moment watching the eyeliner, mascara, and shadow begin to run underneath her eyes making them look almost hollow as it seethed over her fair skin. Maybe taking it in as some type of unconcious metaphor, but wondering if anyone else could see it that way. There wasn't much of a difference after it was all washed away, her eyes looked lighter instead of dark and smooth, it didn't necessarly, dramatically change her appearance. Finishing up she undressed on her way to the bedroom. Her small exhausted body felt cool underneath the covers still feeling the effects of the wine, knowing it must of been some vintage bottle she kept hidden away in the basement, the bottles that flowed free that night couldn't even come close to comparing to that single one they shared between themselves. Even remembering it then her eyes still felt heavy as if the black mess was still running over her face enveloping it to something more then being unconcious. The effect not taking long to wash over her body carrying her into a deep and intoxicated dream.
Sitting on the ground Fiona didn't appear to move a centimeter except for her limbs, even their surroundings were colorless but bright and colorful, a contradicting view. Fiona's thin framed body could be seen through the almost transparent paper thin wrap she wore around her body, her knees and hand stained bright with swirled reds, blues and yellows. Sil's lucid self standing behind her watching fingers and thin boned arms quickly move with a rapid fashion to them, the way a machine would if you had set it for an automatic task. The small raises in the cloth from the small bumps of her spine, flowing down the the gentle and unmistakable curve of her waist and bottom, paint soaked feet peaking out from underneath, but never leaving any paint touch the gown. Her auburn hair was parted at her neck running between and down her shoulders. She could barely make out something, a thin point on the back of her friend's neck. Something small and dark, almost unnoticible if she hadn't been combing over her appearance with her lucid and curious green eyes. What was that small dot? and why was it slowly spreading? Quietly she outstretched her hand leaving her thin and nible fingers come through Fiona's hair and gentely trail down to the back of her neck, to what was there now. More visible now, it almost appeared to be a small hole. She left a single finger graze over the inflicted spot and slightly inside, with what felt warm and comforting. After drawing her finger back and inspecting the liquid between her thumb and index finger it was warm and growing hot, bright and red, slightly sticky as it dried to her skin; it was paint. Even as she inspected the mess in her hand the spot in back of her neck began to run, small red beads whelling up inside that spot and slowing running down her skin in perfect parallel lines. She waited to see if it soaked into the cloth, but it only slowing dissipated and dissapeared as soon as it touched it. Noticing that Fiona's head was still unmoving she took step foward and stood infront of her, not being able to make out what she was painting with her hands. The swirls were dark with bright streaks flowing through them. Her hands were being more and more consumed by the paints till it was almost impossible to determine where her hands were until she moved them. Why was she sitting like this, what was she painting? The girl couldn't help but place a comforting hand on her friend's shoulder to give her warmth and insight onto was she was trying to accomplish. The cold feeling that Fiona must have felt filled her feet then began to fill her fingers and hands. When she withdrew her hand from her, a handprint was left on the transparent gown and it wasn't dissapearing. Anxiety filled the pit of her stomach causing her to want to lean down and look into her eyes and if neccesary, speak to her that way. But her feet felt cool and wet, they didn't want to move, but slowly drag and stick to the ground. Looking down she watched her paint her feet, there was nothing there, only the painting of her feet and she was slowly moving up with those automatic hands, she was painting her in her own image.
Sil's eyes snapped open like a porcelain doll's which might of looked horrifying if anyone had been around to see it, the clock at her beside flashed a neon three o' clock in the morning. She wasn't quite sure what had woken her, it could have been the dream, if she wasn't so sure she had heard a noise. Underneath her a pillow a small chime broke out again, and sang into her ear, her heart and pulse began to slow after waking from the dream itself, giving her a slightly jaded feeling for a small second. The noise rang again and she dug out her phone from underneath her pillow, not quite remembering when she had put it there in the first place. The screen flashed 'Fiona', at last she answered the phone.
"Hello?" The voice on the other end of the phone sounded in a displaced way urgent surrounded by two other voices and a faint crackling noise. Quietly turning the phone off staring blankly from the call watching the black shadows of the room lick against the walls from the flickering and almost burnt out light bulb in the bathroom she had forgotten to turn off. It only took ten minutes.
Sil held her arms against her own small body for warmth as she approached the gallery from down the street, catching view of the bright orange glow that splashed against the neighboring bookstore and bakery. The fire from the top floor splashed out few open windows, and licked against the ones there remained shut. Leaving black soot against the brick of the building. Hastily rushing over to the front door that Fiona had taken care of to lock and deadbold. Sil couldn't understand why she locked it, she wasn't exactaly sure who had called her. Her black heels made their sharp clicking noise the way they had earlier that night to the back alley way the door she was more than sure wasn't secured. Placing her hand against the door's metal exterior was warm and growing warmer by each passing second she held her hand there before pushing the door open with almost no effort. The gallery was exactaly the way it had looked when she left earlier that night, even the bottle of wine which she figured was the cause of her dream was still sitting at the spot where she took a last sip from it's cool, thick, neck. Rushing up the stairs a gust of hot atmosphere met her face and pushed her back, stinging her nose, and burning her eyes. Fiona stood there at the end of the room stripped of every piece of clothing, the dresss he wore earlier that night beside her feet splattered with paints. She stood before a rather large canvas covered in every imaginable color of paint you could think of. Hair soaked through and through again in unimaginable amounts of color. The painting of a woman stood above her on the canvas, almost giving her the feeling that it's eyes were looks straight into her own. Reddish brown locks of it's hair smoothing over the woman's opal colored skin, and those unmistakable green eyes. The eyes were wise as they were vividly deep green. Not quite being able to tell if it were Fiona, or herself that stood six foot tall on the slowing heating canvas.
"Hey! what the hell are you doing?!" The voice echoed eminated out suprising herself at how loud her own voice could sound, and even the urgency that filled it. Ringing across the walls of the room, and vibrating through thin fingers Fiona calmly continued to paint with. The cracking of the now charcoled wooden beams up the ceiling began to give itself away and shed the consumed pieces onto the floor. The entire upstairs roofing begain to allow itself to be consumed by the fire. Slowly her gaze turned to meet Sil's, not smiling nor frowning, her face looked placid and expressionless. The salty and sticky tears that ran down her face stung her eyes, making her wonder if it were from the fire or from what she was looking at. The compassion in the next moment Fiona's eyes that moment was the first she were ever allowed to see. Immediate throughts spun through her mind. Why did she have that look in her eyes? Was she in pain? Was she sad? Was she upset to see her tears? Every possible emotion that could be brought out of Sil at that moment came flushing out in streams of tears that she didn't understand nor stop. The emotion brought out of her was now uncontrollable.
"Why?!"
She continued to stand there, her hand poised with the final brush Sil knew she would ever touch. Her eyes still held the same look before she finally spoke. She didn't understand.
"I'm finished, I've completed everything I have ever wanted to create, I'm happy, and it's out of me now, all of it."
Sil's legs felt like lead, even in her emotional state, knowing it was a classic mental constriction when scared. The tears that stung her eyes now began to quickly dry as soon as they had come, the flame had almost consumed the entire upstairs. Forcing herself to move foward a single step felt as if she had walked one thousand, why did it hurt so much to move? The top beam inbetween the two of them fell, as it hit the floor it splashed still burning embers onto the surrounding floor weakening it, and onto Sil herself. The last of the beams began to give away simultaneously shattering themselves as the hit the floor, filling the room with the smell of burning paints, and another scent that stung her nose more so than the smoke. Smoke and soot so thick she couldn't even see anything beyond three feet anymore, the only thing she could make out were those green eyes that on their own had the ability to pierce, in the way that their creator had intended. It gave her the delirious feeling as if someone were embracing her before her eyes closed.
Three days had passed since, her apartment was quiet, a small bandage grazing her cheek from one of the beams that fell. Sitting on wooden chair facing that same vacant wall with the glossy work beside her that her finger tips barely touched. That morning at the gallery after she had become unconcious from the smoke that filled the room and her lungs she awoke on the ground with a complete stranger looming overhead, had pulled her from the fire and carried her down the stairs and placed her outside, even now unable to recall the stranger's face only remembering the faint lingering scent of paint. Fiona couldn't be found after the fire was controlled and eventually extinguished.
Bringing herself to her feet she placed the photograph onto the wall and nails placed to mount it, it would have a permenant place there now, and anywhere else she might leave for at any given time. Against the wall in the corner near the closet, sat a darkened and slightly charred reamain of a painting rescued from the gallery, it's green eyes gazing past what can be seen, and what cannot be.
