[ Kestrel, age 19, CAUSE OF DEATH; Starvation while lost in the woods far from her seaside home in England. SETTING: An alternate universe where souls with unifinished business are sent to a 5 star hotel after death and essentially trapped there until they are ready to move on ] Webster’s Pocket Dictionary. Page one-twenty two. Entry fifty two. FLAW /flɔ/ noun 1. a feature that mars the perfection of something; defect; fault: beauty without flaw; the flaws in our plan. 2. a defect impairing legal soundness or validity. 3. a crack, break, breach, or rent. Origin: 1275–1325; Middle English In the eyes of an artist, perfection is a fickle creature. Illusive. Temperamental. Expensive. Late to nearly every occasion. But this; here in the hollow, gold trim domicile of her new hereafter, the correct conditions for perfection brewed like mold in a dark, humid place. Because despite occupancy, if you bid your time with patience, every once in awhile the sky would cast over and the animals would disappear into their burrows for shelter. And it was this time, then, that Kestrel pounced. Traffic in The Grand Hotel moved in pulses; one great living body transporting the deceased like great flocks of chattering birds co-dependent on each others’ presence and leaving the halls empty in their wake. A rhythm. Her time bloomed in the minutes between them. Always out of sight as they passed, then back sauntering into the open to finish her work once they’d gone. Each time, immediately upon deeming the coast clear, mercurial hands set back to work. The thick, pungent effluvium of oil paints filled the empty hall like an extra, lingering body. Lithe fingers prickled with the newness of the brushes in one hand while the other pinched generous dollops of rich, cadmium pigments onto a rusty silver serving platter perched precariously upon the edge of the hall table beside her. All your life youve never seen a woman… taken by the wind. Would you stay if she promised you Heaven… Will you ever win? the song in her head supplied to the speechless quiet, as though it were sitting, stretching itself for words like a stumbling teenager whenever the back and forth sweep of brush strokes paused for untimed breaths of their own. Old records. Mummy’s favorites when papa’s not home. Silence. Crackling. Crisp. Electric. Stev. Nicks. Stevie. Kestrel made a long, sweeping stroke with her brush. Spreading a smooth vine of olive green from the face of a great, burnished sunflowers like abstract sunbursts against the pale background of the unadorned hotel wall. Large and impassable no matter which way you approached them from. Nearly two hours. Four bright flowers growing from earthy tendrils. Massive. Elegant. Messy. She smiled. Genuine and clever. Another gift to those she did not know. At least till time washed them away and again that time would come where this beating heart--this living body--would reset itself again and the great mysteries of her faceless art would be gone again forever. Like it had never been there to begin. For long moments she stood there still as stone. Taking in what her hands had done...breathing in the oils...pulling faces like those people in the art books she had seen mulling over paintings in art museums. The kind who could actually afford five-star hotels like these. Ones who knew proper art-- [[ BING! ]] A gasp cut the peace like a knife and like a startled animal, Kestrel’s attention snapped towards the busy, mechanical clunk and jumble of elevator doors. There was no time to think. She was gone. Darting down the long, endless hallway where charcoal trees stretched their yawning arms and greeted her excited descent. Her’s. All her’s. All secrets she knew better than to be caught-- “MOVE MOVE MOVE MOVE!” Just as Kestrel turned a corner, she collided with a body near her own size. “Too late, you’re coming with!” In the haze of adrenaline, with no time to think or divert around the human obstacle in her path, Kes gripped for the other girl’s hand and spun her around, tugging the both of them down the next hall. Excited glances back made giddy, uncontained laughter push forth from her lungs, peering back to make sure they weren’t being pursued. But eventually Kestrel allowed her captive release, trotting to a clumsy stop where she caught herself on an adjacent wall to steady her heavy breathing. “Don’t… Reckon they saw us… do you?” She managed between pants, expression almost grave before the bubbling laughter in her throat broke a wide, playful smile across her lips.
Posted on: Mon, 04 Aug 2014 01:30:25 +0000
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