museum

@⬙ ﹕ phoenix. ⸻ the devil’s advocate ;
( triggers: slightly detailed descriptions of gory paintings )

there was something about the red thread of fate that made even the most stubborn man fall to his knees defeated. there was nothing that could beat those strings that have attached themselves to your every finger the moment you were born. there were many theories about why they were red, or why they were strings. to him, they were the circulatory system – every piece vital for the survival of the others. cut the thread, and they will start falling like domino, unable to stop themselves before destruction.

that was why they hung by red threads, attached to one another with a web of red on the ceiling. a doctor could have told that they were trying to mimic a human’s body, a poet probably figured it out. but for the common people, he left hints. he gave his works names that would accompany a vital organ, names that were vague but telling enough. they were painted with hints of red and gory violence, not quite depicting scenes of desperation but hinting at turmoil in details that could be shocking to those who observed them in time.

it was an unsettling collection he was proud of, something for the likes of the grotesque painters he so adored. hints of darkness and signatures of disaster, accompanied by the sweetest scent of jasmine and honey. he planned every inch of the exhibit, down to the scent, to the drinks they served, to the amount of people that were allowed to enter at once. his magnum opus was ‘at the core of everything’, a grandiose painting that started almost at the top of the ceiling and ended shortly before it hit the floor. it was the painting of a body of ambiguous , with long fingers and a long neck, and legs that did not seem to end, cut off at the ankles but reflected infinitely in the glossy floor. on the left side of its chest, a hole burnt into the canvas, and real red carnations sticking out of it.

other notable mentions were his interactive pieces, where people got to throw darts with red strings attached to them at the smudge of a head without eyes. or the right and left twin paintings you could connect yourself with a red ribbon, creating a wall filled of red. every single piece had its role in the big game of chess he has created for the visitors, one more jarring than the other.

and at the core of everything, there was she, close and mesmerised by the ugliest of them all. she was a contrast on the muddy, red outlines of the carnation monster, and she seemed to be the only one thinking about it deeply. it was his favourite too, but an artist never gives his thoughts about his own works away. he took a vow of silence the moment that painting was hung there, the moment everyone could see it, interpret it, paint new meanings he had never seen before. soft outlines and a beating heart, steady and yet approaching still. she was beautiful, and he was often lured by pretty things despite the ugly ones he took pride in. he stopped, a few steps away from her, and took a sip of the red-tinted champagne he has prepared for his guests. it was the first time he showed this exhibit to the world, and he was still gathering impressions. certainly, hers must be of substance.

“what do you think?”