"Paintings have a life of their own, a life 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. The longer he immersed himself in his art, the more the canvas filled with lines, shapes, and structures.
"That's it. We're done for the day!"
The announcement snapped Luke out of his reverie. He stared at his half-finished painting for a long time before letting out a sigh.
After the announcement, the chatter of his classmates grew louder.
On the other hand, Luke stayed quiet. He just cleaned his easel and packed his materials with mechanical precision. When he was done and ready to leave, the classroom was still abuzz with laughter and conversations.
When he stepped out into the hallway, he vaguely heard someone behind him calling his name. Yet, instead of turning back, he quickened his pace. He just pretended not to hear anything.
It wasn't until he had put a safe distance away from the classroom did he slow down and take in his surroundings.
The third-floor hallway glowed with the orange light of the setting sun. Its warm rays passed through the arc-shaped windows, casting long shadows onto the old stone walls. Looking at this sight made everything seem dreamlike.
Luke's fingers twitched and his heartbeat quickened. The sight ignited a spark of inspiration and an overwhelming urge to paint within him. The only thing that dampened the moment was the existence of the students nearby.
Loud students to be exact.
Luke watched a group of college students laughing and singing below. They seemed to be aspiring musicians, playing guitars with their speakers blaring on the lawn. Their presence just spoiled the peaceful beauty of the sunset.
Additionally, he also couldn't help but be distracted by the conversations of enthusiastic students along the corridor. Someone even bumped into him accidentally, but the said person didn't even turn back to apologize.
With a deadpan expression, he stopped looking around. After adjusting his wrinkled clothes, he continued on his way home. As he walked, the sky gradually lost its orange hue and replaced by dark shades of red.
Along with this, street lights began to turn on one by one, until all the streets and roads were illuminated by them.
Well, except for one.
Luke stared up at the unlit lamppost across from him, his expressionless eyes flickering with mild irritation. He clenched his fist as he watched the bulb for a long time before walking past toward the building behind it.
Climbing up to the third floor, Luke entered into his house. After tossing his old shoulder bag onto the living room sofa, he opened the curtains and silently gazed at the streetlight below.
It was then that he noticed a man standing across the street. Like Luke, he was also staring at the same lamppost.
Even though Luke was just one floor above the top of the lamppost, the man didn't seem to notice him.
Luke was intrigued. 'Why is he looking at it? Is he here to change the bulb? Does that mean I don't need to call someone anymore?'
His thoughts were then interrupted when the man finally looked up, catching Luke's gaze. For a moment, neither of them moved.
Luke was slightly startled, but he didn't feel embarrassed to be caught staring. Instead, his curiosity deepened.
However, Luke was the first to break the stare. It was because the lamppost had suddenly lit up, surprising him and causing him to instinctively close his eyes. When he opened them again, the man had already vanished.
'Where did he go? How did he disappear so quickly?'
Luke's curiosity faded as quickly as it had come. He just shook his head, closed the curtains, and then walked away.
As he sank into the sofa, he leaned back and murmured. "Why do I feel so sluggish lately?"
He then touched his forehead, and found it was hot. It didn't take long for him to realize that he was running a fever.
Luke's irritation rose along with his temperature. Clenching his fists, he exhaled in frustration.
He had a lot of deadlines to meet, especially for that painting which he still wasn't satisfied with. The last thing he could afford right now was to be sick. But his body seemed to have other plans.
For a moment, he was silent, then, in a resigned gesture, he lay down on the sofa. He hoped that a short rest would ease his discomfort.
...
He didn't know how long he had slept, but when he woke up, there were golden lights irritating his eyes.
And then, as his vision cleared, his eyes instantly bulged in surprise.
Above him, several golden strings floated in the air, twisting and wriggling like ropes. They seemed to possess life with each one writhing sluggishly and erratically.
Luke's mind raced. Was he dreaming? Hallucinating?
He blinked rapidly, but when one of the threads drifted close to his face, he flinched and instinctively dodged.
Bam!
Luke yelped in pain as he tumbled off the sofa, landing hard on the wooden floor. The pain was so sharp and real, confirming that the strings weren't some feverish vision.
He stood quickly, backing away from the strange threads. Rubbing his sore hip, he asked in a shaky voice:
"What… what are those?"