The Final Touch
“It looks complete,” the artist mumbled under his breath, scrutinizing the painting. “But why does it feel like it’s missing something?”
The artist leaned close, eyeing on the painting he finished. Black silhouettes of the grass and trees covered the bottom of the landscape, while the red and orange-ish sky covered the rest of it. He felt like he needed something to tie everything—creating a captivating artwork people would admire. But what?
A knock on the door startled the artist’s thoughts. Perfect timing, the artist thought as he wiped his hands with a rag. When he opened the door, his friend greeted him with a smile. “Ah, the artist at work. I’m so glad to see you. Is this a bad time?”
“Not at all, my chap,” he beamed and embraced his friend in a tight hug. “In fact, I’m so glad you came. Please, come in, and do close the door.”
Once the door's closed, his friend shed his muddy-brown suit jacket. “I know. The weather is getting chilly now that summer is over.”
“Indeed. Please, have a seat.” When his friend took a seat on the couch, the artist asked, “What brings you here?”
“Don’t you know?” He frowned. “It’s been so long since I last saw you. I thought you realized that and would be happy to see me again, now that all of our friends are gone. It’s just you and me, pal.”
Yes, only the artist and his friend were the only people that remained alive. He didn’t realize that until his friend mentioned it. How awful that he didn’t get to spend much time with them again when he last saw them. So with the pat on the shoulder, the artist exclaimed, “Of course I’m happy to see you again.” He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I guess I was pretty occupied with my life’s work, as you can see.”
His friend scanned around the room, noticing the artist’s drawings and paintings hanging every inch of the wall. Indeed, his friend was convinced the artist worked on every one of them ever since he rose to fame. “I say, that’s pretty impressive of you, considering how hard you’ve been working on your life’s work. And ever since you became well-known, you’ve been so busy. What is your secret?”
“If I tell you, would it not be a secret?”
The two men laughed for a few seconds until his friend spotted the one painting on the easel and stood up from his seat to take a look at it. “A fine work of art, my friend. Very well done.”
“You think so?” The artist said as he came in from behind.
“Oh, yes. Though I do believe it’s missing something in the painting.”
“You don’t say?”
His friend nodded but quickly added, “But don’t get me wrong. I just think it needs something to make it a full masterpiece.”
The artist chuckled in delight and shoved his hand in his pocket. “You know, old chap? I was thinking the same thing as well. And now that you mentioned it, I finally found what I was missing.”
“You do?” His friend stared at him in bewilderment.
“That’s right, and it’s you that I’m missing.”
Quickly, the artist pulled out his blade and plunged it into his friend’s chest, not leaving him time to react. Crimson blood squirted onto the canvas when the knife dug deep, making a semi-squishy and crunchy sound. And when the artist pulled the knife out, the lifeless body before him crumpled onto the floor.
He took a glance at the blood dripping down at the center of the canvas, which caused the artist’s lips to spread into a satisfied smirk. “Now, it’s officially a masterpiece.”
Hey, everyone! I've been inactive lately, what with work and all. I thought why not I share one of my works. I was hoping maybe I can post flash fiction or short stories when I get a chance. I'll keep you posted on what's going on. Int he meantime, stay safe and have a great day!
The artist leaned close, eyeing on the painting he finished. Black silhouettes of the grass and trees covered the bottom of the landscape, while the red and orange-ish sky covered the rest of it. He felt like he needed something to tie everything—creating a captivating artwork people would admire. But what?
A knock on the door startled the artist’s thoughts. Perfect timing, the artist thought as he wiped his hands with a rag. When he opened the door, his friend greeted him with a smile. “Ah, the artist at work. I’m so glad to see you. Is this a bad time?”
“Not at all, my chap,” he beamed and embraced his friend in a tight hug. “In fact, I’m so glad you came. Please, come in, and do close the door.”
Once the door's closed, his friend shed his muddy-brown suit jacket. “I know. The weather is getting chilly now that summer is over.”
“Indeed. Please, have a seat.” When his friend took a seat on the couch, the artist asked, “What brings you here?”
“Don’t you know?” He frowned. “It’s been so long since I last saw you. I thought you realized that and would be happy to see me again, now that all of our friends are gone. It’s just you and me, pal.”
Yes, only the artist and his friend were the only people that remained alive. He didn’t realize that until his friend mentioned it. How awful that he didn’t get to spend much time with them again when he last saw them. So with the pat on the shoulder, the artist exclaimed, “Of course I’m happy to see you again.” He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I guess I was pretty occupied with my life’s work, as you can see.”
His friend scanned around the room, noticing the artist’s drawings and paintings hanging every inch of the wall. Indeed, his friend was convinced the artist worked on every one of them ever since he rose to fame. “I say, that’s pretty impressive of you, considering how hard you’ve been working on your life’s work. And ever since you became well-known, you’ve been so busy. What is your secret?”
“If I tell you, would it not be a secret?”
The two men laughed for a few seconds until his friend spotted the one painting on the easel and stood up from his seat to take a look at it. “A fine work of art, my friend. Very well done.”
“You think so?” The artist said as he came in from behind.
“Oh, yes. Though I do believe it’s missing something in the painting.”
“You don’t say?”
His friend nodded but quickly added, “But don’t get me wrong. I just think it needs something to make it a full masterpiece.”
The artist chuckled in delight and shoved his hand in his pocket. “You know, old chap? I was thinking the same thing as well. And now that you mentioned it, I finally found what I was missing.”
“You do?” His friend stared at him in bewilderment.
“That’s right, and it’s you that I’m missing.”
Quickly, the artist pulled out his blade and plunged it into his friend’s chest, not leaving him time to react. Crimson blood squirted onto the canvas when the knife dug deep, making a semi-squishy and crunchy sound. And when the artist pulled the knife out, the lifeless body before him crumpled onto the floor.
He took a glance at the blood dripping down at the center of the canvas, which caused the artist’s lips to spread into a satisfied smirk. “Now, it’s officially a masterpiece.”
Hey, everyone! I've been inactive lately, what with work and all. I thought why not I share one of my works. I was hoping maybe I can post flash fiction or short stories when I get a chance. I'll keep you posted on what's going on. Int he meantime, stay safe and have a great day!
No comments have been added yet.
