The hands of an old antique clock slowly moved as time passed, and when the old vintage hand finally landed right at 12 a.m., a kid's scream was heard from outside. It was a desperate scream if somebody would've heard it, they would've thought someone is being slaughtered.
The rain fell gently, each drop descending lazily through the heavy air before hitting against the ground. Puddles slowly began to form, with each drop making it bigger. The atmosphere felt oppressive, and the sky hung low. The child's warm blue pants turned cold and muddy; there was a faint smell of the blood surrounding the scene.
A single tear slipped down the child's cheek as he wiped his tears with a sleeve. The tear struck small puddle with a faint ripple. The delicate impact sent tiny circles spreading outward.
His little chest tightened as the urge to scream clawed its way up his throat. But when he opened his mouth, no sound came. He breathed heavily and raised his hand to his throat. His lips trembled, his jaw ached but he still made no sound.
The only thing he could do was watch the body in front of him lying with no life left in it. His slowly raised hand touched the beautiful face of the woman lying.
He opened his eyes gently, it was a dream. A dream that he hadn't had for years - that's the only memory that he has of his mother.
He grumped and got out from the bed and headed to the bathroom. Cyrus took out his toothbrush and toothpaste, squeezed a little bit of toothpaste on the toothbrush and raised in front of his lips. Then he met the young man's gaze from the mirror; messy light blonde hair that reached the end of his neck, piercing blue eyes convey intensity and emotion. His features are sharp and elegant, with a pale complexion. An oversized black hoodie covered his brood shoulders and gray sweatpants on.
''My eyes circles are getting worse'' Cyrus mumbles and takes out an eye cream from the cabinet. He gently put it on the eyes and puts it back in the cabinet.
Cyrus, though because he is new to the place he, could visit some shops, a park or an art gallery that he saw on a paper advertisement. It was a new gallery, so he thought he could give some support to it.
Before Cyrus gotten into dirty business to get money, he was a novelist. He loved to write poetry, if only money didn't matter.
He changed into a white t-shirt and threw on a brown leather jacket and baggy blue jeans. He locked up and headed for a shop near the apartment. After 10 minutes, he was already there. The shop's exterior is painted in soft pastel tones with white trim and a cheerful striped awning in pale yellow and white. Vibrant flower boxes surrounded the entrance; entering the shop, soft indie music hums in the background, and the shopkeeper, wearing a linen apron, greets every guest with a friendly smile.
He grabbed a water bottle, gum and two lollipops.
Cyrus said goodbye to the shopkeeper and walked around the park, which was a few minutes away from the shop. Tall, leafy trees stand in clusters, their canopies casting dappled shade over winding paths. The air was full of birds chirping, kids screaming as they were playing on the sand box near. A sparkling fountain in the center sends up arcs of water which shone like diamonds because of the sun reflection.
Cyrus sat on the bench, which was facing the beautiful sea. The waves moved smoothly together, not leaving any waves left alone. The sun was slowly moving with clouds passing by.
He sat there for at least 2 hours enjoying the weather. Cyrus got up when the sun started to set and headed home. On the way home, he realized that the gallery was close by. He walked through Flower Street which led to the gallery.
The gallery's exterior is a masterpiece in itself, seamlessly blending modern architecture with classical inspiration. Its facade is adorned with large, floor-to-ceiling glass panels that reflect the surrounding landscape—whether a bustling urban skyline or a serene park. A sleek, minimalistic design features smooth stone walls in a muted color palette of sandstone, marble, or granite.
The building is surrounded by manicured gardens with art installations that entice onlookers and hint at the creativity housed within.
Upon entering ,Cyrus is greeted with light-filled atrium with high ceilings. The space is adorned with skylights or strategically placed windows that allow natural light to pour in, creating a serene and welcoming atmosphere. The main exhibition halls are spacious and thoughtfully designed, with modular walls that can be rearranged to suit different exhibits.
A central staircase or grand escalator leads to upper levels, where smaller, more intimate spaces host curated collections or thematic exhibitions.
There weren't many people inside; Cyrus at first was surprised, as he couldn't understand why there were only about 10 people in such a beautiful place. His thoughts disappeared as he went by every painting and couldn't believe his eyes of how beautiful there are.
One painting caught his attention, which made him stop in his footsteps.
In the painting, there is a pensive young figure, seated in what appears to be a dimly lit, weathered interior space reminiscent of a cathedral or ancient building. The young figure seemed sad, like he experienced a loss.
Cyrus was so lost in his thoughts, he didn't realize there was a figure on his right side.
''What do you think about the painting?''
''ah'' Cyrus gasped and looked at the tall figure standing next to him. Dark, neatly styled hair that frames that man's angular face and sharp features, including a defined jawline. His slightly upturned, golden brown eyes give him a piercing yet mischievous look. He's dressed in a dark shirt with a open collar, which revealed his olive skin. Cyrus looked away from the tall man and looked at the painting again.
''I think it's beautiful; in my opinion, the painting symbolizes the interplay between modernity and the past. The man's deep gaze into the floor might imply some kind of loss; his eyes look like they're losing their sparks slowly.'' Cyrus replied without taking his eyes off the painting.
His eyes became bigger after hearing the reply
''That's what I was trying to express through my painting.'' The man's voice sounded appealing
Cyrus eyes widen and he goes into the artist's name on the bottom of the painting, ''Eros'' and heads for the man again.
''I'm Eros''
''I'm Cyrus''
''I didn't think anybody would understand the painting like I do'' Eros admitted and kept his brown eyes on Cyrus.
''Nobody understands the art better than the artist,'' Cyrus replied, slowly starting to move to the different painting. Eros followed him.
They spent half an hour talking about the painting, laughing at the dumb ideas they suggested to each other. Even though they just met, they felt like they knew each other for their whole lifetime.
Cyrus left the gallery when it started to get dark and dropped by the shop to grab some food.
The knife was placed next to the plate, and on the plate there was a medium sandwich. The sandwich is made from basil pesto, bread, tomatoes, and mozzarella. Cyrus wasn't really a picky eater, so he didn't have problems eating anything.
''I should've gotten his contact'' Cyrus mumbled and stuffed himself with the sandwich.
''At least I have done something productive today; tomorrow I will need to visit a workplace.'' He finished talking to himself and dropped to the comfortable bed.