I have never been able to really understand the appeal of Mona Lisa.
I mean, really. It's a painting of a woman who isn't exactly smiling and went a little crazy with the tweezers. People are even questioning her gender for Pete's sake! Why then, is the painting so very prized and cherished?
Because of her/his/its reputation. I'm sure no one one hundred years ago would have considered buying the Mona Lisa for millions of dollars. But since then, the Mona Lisa has been involved in hundreds of plots and debuted in many different conspiracy theories until she became the legend she is today.
Not unlike the young man I was watching as he strolled around the gallery with his bodyguard. His intelligence, his craftiness, his power are nothing until he gains infamy for them. Infamy is a tricky thing. On one hand, it gains you respect. On the other, it makes you many enemies. I could only finger my handgun as he strolled behind me, lingering to gaze into the eyes of Mona Lisa, as if to ask her for the answer to some mystery. I half expected her to speak at his gaze. I know I could not have bore it for long. Instead, he made a hand motion that I would have missed if I had not been an expert. At this signal, all the lights went out for a brief moment. Blood thumping, I raced through to pitch hallways, knocking down tourists to try to catch my prey.
My prey? Hardly. Little did I know, but I was walking strait into his waiting arms.
In the Harsh Parisian sunlight, I'm afraid I stood out like a sore thumb. Dressed in loose and athletic black, sprinting to the café I knew was the Rendezvous point for the young man and his contact. There she was, the end of our fortunes, Le noire chat was perched delicately on the riverside, drawing visitors in with a cinnamon scent wafting on the wind. I claimed a small table by the window, sipping a small café au lait as I waited, calming my pounding heart with the soothing balm of rich coffee. My peace was not meant to last, for a pale youth and his faithful companion were entering the shop. I resisted the urge to fill the youth's chest with bullets while I could, but how could I escape alive? As I pondered this, I saw him hand an envelope to a tall, slender man who briskly strode out of the door and into the seething Parisian crowds. I stood to follow him, leaving a few euros on the table when I heard a cold voice by my ear.
"I
would not interfere with my plans if I were you"
"I live to
interfere" I hissed, putting up a show of bravado and started to
duck and weave away. My heart was pounding like a steel drum and my
legs felt like jello. As I ran away, though I could not resist
turning back and catching one last glimpse of Artemis Fowl smiling
his Mona Lisa smile.
I do not own Artemis Fowl and his various associates. In fact, I would be rather afraid to. Neither do I own the Mona Lisa, Paris, or a Café known as le noir chat.
I hope you all enjoy my re-write of Mona Lisa.