Flash Fiction- Capstone in Prose- ENG447
I sat by my easel 5ft by 6in, with ultramarine oil paint dripping onto my apron. I muttered to myself “I hate this piece. It’s art block again. And it still doesn’t have a name”. Maple trees, their orange-red leaves floating to the ground, the wrong shade. A tudor town in the background with wooden accents, stone stairs, and stained glass windows, off-center, set a glow in the streets. Jump into the painting. Jump. It begged me. One foot off the stool, then another. I dropped my palette draped in hues of blue. It splattered against the white tile floor. My feet thudded, my eyes entranced by the swirls of oil. I breathed in tumbling forward those cursed elongated maple branches in my sightline. I was inside the painting. How? A merchant with his wagon sold gemstones to people. They waved goodbye. He trotted along. I titled my head as he passed. He wasn’t riding a horse but it smelled of cinders. With purple scales and a flap, it blew me backwards.
“He’s riding a dragon.” I exclaimed. “A freakin. real dragon.”
“She can be scared easily. Sorry about that.” He offered his hand.
“Anything I can help you with, Miss.”
“Uh, yes the town.” I asked.
“You must be looking for Redwind. Just straight down the road. You can’t miss it.” He pointed. His dragon trotted away.
Close by, Redwind is surrounded by thick forests. At the entrance, farmers carried in their harvest: pumpkins, and eggplant.
Stalls lined the street selling magical items: oozing potions and floating wands. People haggled prices. “100 gold. No 50 gold.” I heard.
Deeper in the town was the city center with a fountain at its core. Wizards dragged water from the fountain turning it to ice, while humans with cat ears and tails sunbathed on the benches. Did I design this place? I wondered. When I first started on the piece, I was excited about the world I created but over time I criticized every detail, every stroke. Once, I almost contemplated destroying it, tearing it to bits. But how could I hate this magical place. Night fell on Redwind. I was outside an inn with a brightly lit window. There was a piano blasting music with fairies dancing, their beer sloshing in hand. I wanted to go inside to meet those people. To live with them. But I knew I couldn’t stay. My real life was calling yet I felt alone in it. Why couldn’t I be happy for once? Because this isn’t real. Soon the inn lights shut off, becoming muddled. A hazy shadow cast over it. Strokes of color dragged my body, my hands straining. I don’t want to leave, I pleaded. I love it here. I was back in the studio: paint on the walls, and brushes on the floor. I couldn’t go back yet I had the will to keep creating. I peered at the piece finished weeks later, reminiscing about my adventure. Then came its name: Celestial.