Day 14 of StoryADay September
Write a story from the perspective of someone in a piece of art.
“Come sit for me,” he says. This man who has lured many before me. I have heard that some girls left in tears. But I see a glimmer of what is to come, so I nod my agreement.
He tucks my hand into the crook of his elbow and leads me through the crowded streets to his studio. I expected chaos inside, his mind exploded out into the room. Instead all is order. Contraptions hang from the ceiling and cover a long table. A single easel is propped in the middle of the room. A low stool placed in front of it.
“Please. Sit,” he gestures to the stool and I lower myself onto it, my eyes tracking his movements as he prepares paints and brushes.
He begins to paint. He is silent as he works, and looks more at the canvas in front of him than he does at me. I expected conversation. A seduction, perhaps.
After an hour, the light begins to fade. He asks me to return the next day, so I do. Again, all is silent. I watch him as he works and the glimmer intensifies. I see him, ill, dying, gasping for his next breath, his head cradled on the king’s lap.