THE PAINTER (An Original Short Story)

“It’s almost done.”

The painter admiringly looked at the partially painted canvass in front of him. It won’t be long before he finish this masterpiece that he’d been working on for the past three weeks. He knows that he must have it done before he finally retires.

He wanted it to be so much to be extraordinary, that he poured every bit of effort, time and his whole life for this final work. This way, he knew that he will never be forgotten. One way or another, it will be the most valuable painting of all time.
He’d grown much thinner since the day he started on this project – he neither sleeps nor eats as much as he used to. Aside from his structure, one would also notice the drastic change in his skin color – except no one has ever seen him. If he wanted this work to be his legacy, then it should be a surprise.

His health is on the verge of failing, making him fully aware that time is of the essence. He had expected it long before he started this piece, all the while considering the risk of not being able to have his painting finished on time.

It didn’t matter. He had to try.

He believes that his life depended on the painting, but in reality, this painting depended on his life. The painting depicts every shade of his existence – vibrant, dramatic, and conventional. Finished or not, it will always be a part of him even after his death.

But as luck would have it, he had it done. All the hard work had finally paid off. A tear rolled on his cheek when he realized that this indeed is his final masterpiece. It turned out just exactly as he wanted. It was worth every sacrifice.

He took pride in his accomplishment as he gently brushed his palm against the canvass…
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gently caressing the dry crimson paint that used to be his blood, and smiled to himself before he fell dead into the floorboard.

Now he will never be forgotten.

~o~

Happy weekend everyone!

Love. Love. Love.