Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni, a man born in Caprese, created a sculpture called La Pieta. It was a commission initially to be placed on the cardinal's funeral chapel but then again it was just rumors. Now, the Sistine Chapel is its home. Tourists gather from different parts of the world to see this intricate and immaculate sculpture. Was it because it represents the lady holding her son grieving over her dead son? Was it because it was a certain meant to be that they can't avoid? Or was it a sculpture that just shows the full devotion and obedience to fate? Thus, the artwork has been interpreted in diverse ways by different people. And what was going on inside Michelangelo's hallow brain and heart sculpting such marble is now washed over with the time's unchanging fate.
This place is serene; the morning sun is shining brightly, and the green leaves move and sway as if the air and the trees are a couple dancing to it. It is a day on which you can stroll without worrying about anything. Through the casement window, the four opaque pairs of rectangle panels pierced by the sun's rays create the eminent little glow of a rainbow. It shone down on the dishes that were submerged in the water in the kitchen sink, and as the water dripped on the sink, it made tiny colors that my orbs could absorb.
Inside the house, a bath is cooling up as the crystals of water drip on the white-tiled floor from the overfilled sink as the water dilutes the crimson trail of shining red ruby-shaped footsteps on the ground as it fills the emptiness on the floor. White powder blushes in red as it meets the red colors of fluid as the heat of the room makes me trickle in sweat.
And the Madonna in the scene is in her most fragile state.
Unconscious? She lay motionless, and only those who have been watching art would have recognized the pose she was in—a perfect imitation of Michelangelo's La Pietà, her body positioned with precision atop a pool of rubies that started crystalizing underneath her. In an effort to get myself out of this stubborn chair, I shuffled a bit. I don't know if I should be repelled by it or amazed, yet disgust is somehow curdling within my veins as I turn away and it gushes out. My eyes sluggishly land on the table for two. A mound of clay used for crafting pots was covered to prevent it from drying out.
Two envelopes with oldish wax seal inspired and writings. One opened, and one isn't.
The meticulous suturing of her bare neck and crown with medical thread hinted at surgical precision, and the flowing garment draped over her body echoed the attire worn by Jesus in Michelangelo's masterpiece, yet her lifeless posture resembled nothing more than a discarded doll left forgotten in a dark corner.
The fabric of her clothing dried and became stiff as the excess clay water leaked onto the ground adding to the scenes surreal atmosphere. The thought of the careful preparation and performance that had gone into this horrible deed filled me with fear and uneasiness.
Will I end up also being like that?
The mere thought of the clay hardening on my decaying body made me recoil in disgust and shudder with dread. It was even more unsettling, as the woman before me had just shared in my laughter, only to be turned into a motionless sculpture by the sculptor's skilled hands. The sight of her frozen expression and immobile form added to the eerie atmosphere, causing a wave of unease to wash over me. As I dragged my heavy body away from her body, the weight of the situation seemed to bear down on me with every movement. My heart raced with fear, and memories of the gruesome ruby bath filled my mind, causing my fingers to shake as I desperately pulled myself away from the scene.
Tiny vine-like tendrils emerged from cracks between tiles, slowly ascending the yellow walls with dreadful stealth and speed. Delicate blooms in shades of Eve's twilight unfurled petal by petal, an ominous floral infestation spreading beneath my very eyes and decaying swiftly as they grew vastly fast and filled the walls.
The sloshing sound of rubies coated my hands and the floor that I placed my eyes on. It was then that I felt the cold, hard blade of a kitchen knife press against my trembling hand and glint maliciously in the dim light. As the reality of my situation set in, my mind immediately raced to the consequences of touching evidence at the crime scene as if my senses. The thought of leaving my fingerprints behind only added to my sense of panic and desperation as I struggled to crawl away, hoping to escape the nightmare that had unfolded before me.
"Alessio, is that what these schools taught you?" I clutched onto my hair as it echoed like a scream.
My mind was racing with thoughts of being caught like a criminal, and vivid visions of my younger sister flooded my mind. As she bailed me out of jail I could see my sister standing there her disappointment written all over her face and her hair pink. Reminding me of the burden I had become and the time and money she had wasted on me my mother's voice reverberated in my head.
My body moved on its own but the weight of my thoughts continued to disturb my mind.
I was consumed by an intense sense of guilt and was convinced that my actions would have grave consequences. Despite this, I knew that if I returned to this state, they could post a bail bond for me. I didn't care what they said or thought because the expensive homes, artwork, and enterprises that belonged to my grandparents in Italy were all mine as the sole male heir. They wouldn't even receive that fortune without me; even if they killed me, I didn't care if they beat me to death. But as I thought about my death wish, I knew it went against my plan for retribution against those who had treated me badly. The future seemed uncertain, and the worry of being a prime suspect weighed heavily on my mind. I began to feel as though the consequences of my actions would follow me around for the rest of my life and could not be avoided.
I won't die.
Broken glass splintered through my bare feet with each step my body aching all over. Leaning against the wall I pulled myself up with sheer willpower but I could feel my strength ebbing away.
Instinct to live.
My hand trembled as I fished out the two handkerchiefs from my pockets, grateful for what I was bringing. Instead of using one to dry my hands, I tied one around each of my bleeding feet, hoping the pressure would stop flowing. As dizziness threatened to overwhelm me, I bit my lip and regulated my breathing, determined to keep moving forward even if my eyes saw my foot slowly being eaten by it. I watched in horror as it seeped through the makeshift bandages, but I quickly stemmed the flow, refusing to give up. The muscles in my torn-apart feet throbbed with each step, but I pushed through the pain, using the coarse divider to support myself as I made my way toward freedom. The sound of approaching sirens grew louder, giving me hope that I might make it out alive.
My heart pounded in my chest as more questions rushed in.
Did I just fall asleep?
Am I dead?
Who was the killer, and what were they doing in there? The unknown filled me with fear and uncertainty, but I knew that I had to keep moving forward if I wanted any chance of survival.
The kitchen wasn't that far from the entrance; I could make it through. I just need to keep my steps quiet. I can clearly recognize that it affects my thinking that it went nuts and that I think I might burst into a heart attack any minute from now. I see the bright sunlight streaming through the tiny gaps in the screen door as a sign of hope and motivation to escape this terrible place. My head exploded with a sharp pain in the back just as I was reaching for the door handle. My eyes saw more doors than a singular one. The flowers rush towards my face as the veins of them hold tightly on my skin, agonizingly tightly closing my path of breath.
So this is how I'll die.