Pictures
Do you have dreams?
And wonder why,
Though you reach,
They're in the sky.
Glittering like stars,
Far away,
There they are,
'till this very day.
The sun rose like a great phoenix, spreading its wings as it exploded in a grand burst of heat and fire from the black ashes of the night, the glittering white embers it left behind during its last visit slowly fading back into its glorious plumage until it must die again.
Raimu Bito, age fourteen, closed her eyes for a moment as if to better envision the sunrise outside, or maybe just so she could think of a decent shade of orange to create that got anywhere near the beauty outside. She faced the window, paint brush in hand, slowly but surely painting delicate ribs of golden light across the bottom of the great ginger clouds that crowded the horizon.
She had no idea when this had happened, but a sudden urge had come to her to forever preserve the raw splendor she saw outside every day and night. What better way than painting?
To one who had no idea they were looking at a painting, they would have thought it was a window to the outside world. Rhyme, as she was called by her friends, was encircled on all sides by various paintings, drawings, and sketches, as if to call on their power for her other works.
Inside their depths one would see glimpses of her life, the past, the present, and a young girl's hope for the future.
There would be one girl with a stuffed cat, she'd be smiling and laughing, unaware her true self she had been so afraid of showing was now forever locked in the world. Her eyes shone with compassion and intelligence.
There would be another, stoic and serious, with gleaming blue eyes and a skeptical set to his face. He was also unaware there was a slight smile on the edges of his lips, something he disliked showing, but Rhyme had captured perfectly.
Another picture still, one of her older brother, skateboard in hand as he rushed off to his goal. He had a crooked grin, determined eyes, but an almost confused expression was constantly on his face.
Then, there was a girl that seemed like the other with the stuffed cat, except her eyes had a more cheerful tilt to them, missing the thoughtful crease on the other girl's. Besides that, one would have thought they were sisters, so similar was this pink haired girl to the other.
And then…
Despite herself, Rhyme lowered her paint brush and stared at one picture in particular. She didn't like it, not because it was bad, but because she felt she had captured the person too well. She shivered slightly, her eyes tracing the stretching fingers of golden sunlight to his picture, resting against a chair, having been thrown carelessly against it after a tired night out.
This boy had ashen hair, with sly purple eyes and a catlike smirk on his face. It was hard to tell if he was sincere or not, hard to tell if that was a mocking look on his face or one of genuine amusement.
Rhyme, for some reason she didn't know, flicked that particular picture face down. She went back to the sunrise, but even as she did so, she almost messed up a certain streak of bright red as a voice touched her ear.
This voice had no breath, for do the dead really need it? She only knew he was talking thanks to the slight vibration she felt from his voice; it seemed to touch her entire being.
"You should know if you're going to be an artist, Raimu. Haven't you heard the saying about a picture capturing someone's Soul?"
She kept painting, because Rhyme knew when she turned around there wasn't going to be anyone there.
~***~
A little drabble I did for fun, especially since tomorrow I have much, very much, to write. I made up the poem at the top.
On that note, want to review?
