So, this is one of the stories that me and my friend, Jaq, made for our assignment in creative writing class (again). This time it’s about making a story based on a picture or illustration. We chose Van Gogh’s Starry Night Over The Rhone as our picture. Personally, I’m not too fond of this story because I made it at the last moment. I could still expand and continue the story, but for some reasons I didn’t. So….let’s just see what I got in more or less a couple of hours. Enjoy! ^^
‘Nice, isn’t it?’
The voice pulled me from my silent contemplation. I looked up to see a man standing; no, hovering above me. He was extremely weird. His face was covered with a white beard. His eyes twinkling like mad, but at the same time looked intelligent. His nose was crooked as if it was broken and the effort put to fix it was not enough to turn it back to its natural form. The first word that popped in my head when I saw him was, Albus Dumbledore. Too bad he didn’t wear his half-moon spectacles. And he didn’t have long beard and hair. But aside from that little detail, he was the exact replica of the fictional character himself.
‘I always see you around here,’ he said.
I stared at him; contemplating whether it was safe enough to talk to him or not. Deeming him safe enough to talk to, I nodded.
‘I like it here.’ Here being a secluded corner in a seedy gallery. I know, you might instantly think that I was full of lies. There were no seedy galleries. All galleries were good or at least decent enough to host some of the most magnificent paintings in the world. But not this one. This gallery belonged to my mother’s brother. He dealt in the forgery business; painting forgery. This gallery was his and right before the old man interrupted me, I was looking at the replica or I should say, the forged painting of Van Gogh’s Starry Night Over the Rhone. It was magnificent. Nothing gave away the fact that it was fake. It was a beautiful piece indeed.
‘What do you like about this one?’ the old man asked me.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Well, you must have a reason for your action.’
‘Being here almost every day to see this painting, of course.’
‘Nothing in particular.’
‘Come on, a penny for your thoughts.’
I gazed at the fake painting with longing. I, myself, am not sure about what pulled me towards this particular painting. I didn’t even know its name and its painter before my uncle told me. I didn’t know anything about painting. Hell, I didn’t know anything, that’s it. I didn’t go to school, I couldn’t read, I couldn’t write. No school would accept me. So, no. There was no way that the pull that I felt towards this particular painting was from its academic value and all that nonsense. I was no artist either. I didn’t know why Van Gogh pictured a starry night this way. I mean, it was so weird. A real starry night was nothing near that painting. So, I came to a conclusion that I didn’t even know why I felt that pull to this painting.
‘I don’t know. Really.’
‘Maybe its value? Its unique coloring? There must be a reason.’
‘I don’t know. I just felt a strange pull towards this one. Like it’s calling me. I know it sounds weird, but…’ I stopped speaking. ‘I feel like I’m connected with this painting.’
‘I don’t really know how to explain it.’ I looked away from the painting and stared at the old man’s eyes. He smiled and his eyes twinkling again.
I shrugged. Trying my best to find words to describe the feeling inside of me. ‘I feel weird. I don’t know since when, but I always feel utmost attraction to weird things. I found a blue stone near my house extremely fascinating when I was a kid. Other children called me crazy and threw it away. I cried for several days after that.’
He smiled again. ‘Maybe you are special.’
I snorted. I was sure that he was crazy right after he said that. ‘Special. How I wished that was true.’
‘But what if that is true?’
‘There’s just no way that’s true.’
There was a long pause after I said this. We both looked at the painting with a dreamy and faraway look. Well, I looked at it with a faraway look and the old man with a dreamy one. None of us spoke for a long time. The silence was heavy around us, but not uncomfortable.
‘Do you know that the reflection of light in the painting was a big thing back then?’
His question broke the silence that surrounds us. ‘No.’
‘Well, it does.’
‘Well, that was a nice chat.’ He stood up and patted his pants to get rid of the dust from sitting on the dirty concrete. ‘Can I expect to meet you here tomorrow night?’
I shrugged. ‘Maybe.’
‘Hopefully, you will realize how special you are. Maybe you will be a big thing in this era just like the reflection of lighting in the painting.’
‘I doubt that.’
‘You are very pessimistic, young man.’
‘Yeah, when I try to be optimistic, reality tends to step on my optimism, so yea…’
He chuckled lightly. Again, his eyes twinkling like crazy. ‘How old are you?’
‘What a young age. So young and yet so full with hatred towards the world. Think about what I said. Maybe you’ll find the answer within yourself as to why you feel so attracted to this painting.’ He smiled one last time and went out from the gallery.
I looked at the painting once more. Thinking about what the old man said, I felt myself drawn to the painting once more. Maybe I really could be something big like in the painting. I felt myself smiling. Maybe, I could be someone special. Maybe. I felt myself lost once again in a deep contemplation. Contemplating all the things that I had experienced, seen, heard, and felt. And hoping, that someday I could be that someone special that the old man was talking about. Someday.