Paintings have a life of its own that derives from the painter's soul.
Luke Lorence was reminded of this quote as he swept his brush across the blank white canvas. With every stroke, colors began to fill the empty space. And the longer he immersed himself in his art, the more the canvas came to life with its lines, shapes, and structures.
"That's it. We're closing the room!"
The announcement snapped Luke out of his reverie. He stared at his half-finished painting for a long moment, frowning, before standing up. As the other students chatted loudly, he silently cleaned his easel and art materials. When he was done and was ready to leave, the classroom was still filled with laughter and discussion.
As he stepped outside the door, he vaguely heard someone calling his name. Yet, instead of looking back, he quickened his pace, pretending not to hear anything. Only when he was far from the room did he slow down and take in his surroundings.
In the third-floor corridor, the orange hue of the setting sun began to illuminate the blue sky, its brightness slowly crawling through the old school buildings.
Luke's fingers twitched noticeably. The sight filled him with inspiration and an urge to paint. The only thing he disliked was the presence of the other students.
Loud students, to be exact.
Luke watched a group of college students laughing below. There were also some aspiring musicians with their loud voices, guitars, and speakers on the lawn, spoiling the beauty of the day's transition.
Additionally, he also couldn't help but overhear the murmurs and conversations of enthusiastic students in the corridor. Someone even bumped into him unintentionally, but the said person didn't even turn back to apologize.
With a deadpan expression, he stopped looking around, fixed his clothes, and continued on his way home. As he walked, the sky slowly lost its orange hue, replaced by darker shades of red encroaching on the city.
Along with this, street lights began to turn on, one by one, until all the streets and roads were illuminated by them—except for one.
Luke stared up at the unlit lamp post across from him, his expressionless eyes flickering with irritation. His palm clenched into a fist as he watched the bulb for a long time before passing toward the building behind it.
Climbing up to the third floor, he entered into a spacious apartment. Setting his shoulder bag on the sofa, he opened the living room window curtains and once again watched the streetlight below in silence.
While he obsessively looked at it, he somehow noticed a man gazing at the same lamppost. The man didn't seem to notice him, even though Luke was just one floor above the top of the lamppost.
Luke was intrigued. 'Why is the man looking at it? Is he here to change the bulb? Does that mean I don't need to call someone to change it?'
However, as he pondered this, the man finally noticed him. Luke was stunned, but continued staring, and so did the man. Luke didn't feel embarrassed about being caught; he just wondered who the man was.
Yet, Luke was the first one to break free from the eye-to-eye contact. It was because the lamppost suddenly lit up, surprising him and causing him to instinctively close his eyes. And when he opened them again, the man below had somehow disappeared.
'Where did he go? How did he vanish so quickly?'
Luke's curiosity was short-lived as he immediately drew the curtains closed.
Walking to the living room, he sank onto the sofa and pondered, 'Why do I feel so sluggish these days?'
He touched his forehead and found it hot. He then realized that he was sick.
Luke's irritation rose along with his temperature. He clenched his fists, breathing out in frustration.
He had a lot of things and deadlines to meet, especially since he wasn't satisfied with his painting earlier, and he couldn't afford to be sick. But his fever told him otherwise.
Luke went motionless for a moment before lying down on the sofa, hoping a short rest would alleviate his fever.
He didn't know how long he had slept, but when he awoke, golden light irritated his eyes. As his vision cleared, his eyes widened in surprise.
He saw numerous golden strings above floating, each wriggling like ropes and worms.
He stared at the ceiling, trying to determine if they were illusions or if he was dreaming. It was only when one of the strings came close to his nose that he instinctively moved away.
Bam!
Luke hissed as he fell onto the hard wooden floor. The pain only confirmed that he wasn't dreaming and the strings were real.
His eyes narrowed as he quickly rose and moved away from them. Massaging his aching butt, he whispered,
"What are they?"