A Dog's Lament

The moment the door opened, the dog raced toward them. He jumped higher and higher, bouncing his legs on the stomachs of his owners as if they were springboards and his back legs springs. He bounded ahead of them when they began to move, leading the way into the house.

 Inside, there was more excitement, more jumping around, more hyperactivity. As his owners watched on, laughing hard, he zoomed around the house, circling them a few times before stopping at last, panting heavily. He collapsed into a flat position on the floor, breathing quickly, desperate for the  return of air.

The dog waited until the older woman left them alone before sitting in front of the girl. As she reached out and stroked his soft, wiry fur, the dog began to speak. A long, involved series of groans and moans, intermixed with a few odd growls here and there. He was telling her a story. A story that seemed sad and tragic and filled with woe. This was the dog's lament.

It was fine at first. There was sunlight and clouds and the sky was blue. There was warmth in the air and lots of smells and exploring to do. But then, there was nothing new. It started to get darker and colder, and I couldn't get inside no matter how hard I tried. I couldn't get to you. I couldn't find you anywhere. And then, it got darker and colder and I was all alone. It felt like the world was freezing over... Then, it was pitch black and I couldn't see anything. You still weren't here! You left me! All alone! In the dark and the cold. I didn't know if you'd ever come home again. I though you'd left me forever! 

As the girl listened to the dog, trying her hardest not to laugh at the humour in her dog's serious recount of his sorrowful tale, she imagined him sitting on one of the tree stumps in the yard, howling his tragic story to the moon.

But, as the family settled in for the night, together again, all was forgiven. The dog lay down atop the blanket under which the girl sat and licked the air contentedly. He took one last look round, then, satisfied nobody was going anywhere, finally he dropped his head gently onto his front paws and closed his eyes. With his people. All together again. Home at last.

Contradiction

"Oh, he's a real rough guy that one," they'd say, "deviant delinquent with no morals. What does he think he's doing, exposing our children to such... Such unpleasantness?" Put simply, Artie Rose's pictures were considered rather scandalous. Folks in the small town where he lived couldn't handle something so outrageous as the human body, depicted as a form of artwork. How could they, when they could hardly even face seeing themselves without the clothes that usually covered them.

So, Artie was labelled. Odd, deviant, sick, delinquent, were all terms that came to be associated with Artie Rose. The recluse he was, Artie didn't know for a long time that these labels had come to be assigned to him. Although, in his defence, the labels hadn't come for a while. Before that had been the whispers. Before that, he'd just been ignored. Thought of as the odd, eccentric but most likely harmless guy who lived by himself on the edge of town.

The public image of him in the early days he had known about, but as the years went by, he kept to himself more and more. After that came the whispers, not an utterance of which ever reached Artie's ears. The labels came after his art started to become more visible. Especially in the small town Artie called home, no one had ever seen anything like the pictures he painted. So, he became even more isolated than he once had been, subjected to staring and people crossing the road to avoid him on the few occasions he did decide to venture out.

That was until one day, the sound of a knock at his door made Artie jump at least a foot high in the air. He paused a moment to compose himself before he erased, brushing his hands down his dress shirt and pants to remove all traces of creasing. "Hello," said the young woman when Artie opened the door to reveal her. A pretty young thing, not too much younger than himself, he guessed, with a smile bright as the sun shining above.
"Hi," said Artie, his grip on the doorframe tightening as he swayed a little with nerves. "Can I help you?"
"Are you Mr. Rose?"
Artie nodded and the girl's smile widened. Her cheeks increased in colour as she spoke again,, "I'm sorry, Mr. Rose. I'm Kitty. Kitty Picton." She extended her hand to him, and once he shook it, returned it to her side. "I'm sorry to bother you Mr. Rose. I've come about your ad in the newspaper." She pulled a folded piece of paper from her pocket, shook it out and held up the newspaper clipping for him to me.
"Well," said Artie a little breathless. "It was quite a while ago that I placed that." He said slowly as the pieces gradually sorted themselves out inside his head.
Kitty's face fell. "You've already got someone, haven't you?"
"No, actually. You've been the first person interested," said Artie, "and you must have come a long way!" He stepped aside and opened the door a little wider, beckoning her with a finger. "Please, do come in."

"I'm sorry," Kitty rambled as Artie led her through the house. "I'm sorry it's taken me so long, and I came without announcement... I had to wait till I turned eighteen and I could run my own life."
Artie stopped dead in his tracks and turned to face Kitty, wide eyed. "You're eighteen!?"
"Yeah," she said, unconcerned. "So?"
"You're so... Young."
"You're not so old yourself, Mr. Rose."
"Artie," he said, "and thank you. But I'm possibly old enough to be your Dad."
"No one would guess."
Artie said nothing, instead gesturing she take a seat opposite the one he'd settled into himself.
Kitty did as she was asked, leaning forward in her chair, hands clasped together. "So, this modelling thing."

That long while ago, Artie had placed an advertisement seeking a model for one piece of artwork. But, he and Kitty bonded so closely over the weeks it took Artie to do that one picture that Kitty stayed and kept working with him. That was when Artie started to become a little more than just the odd but harmless guy living alone on the edge of town. His pieces featuring Kitty made Artie a little more infamous in his small hometown, and as his newest series of paintings began to circulate, labels such as 'deviant', 'sick', 'twisted' and 'corrupt' became attached to the name Artie Rose.

"Artie, darling, you know people are talking about you, right?" Kitty asked him one day on her return from an outing into town.
"They are?" Artie asked, mouth agape in horror.
She leaned down, brushing her arms soothingly as she moved to kiss him on the crown of his head. The worry lines on her forehead creased with concern. "You didn't know?" She asked, her voice soft. Artie shook his head wordlessly.  "Oh honey, I'm sorry."
"It's ok," he said after a moment. "Kitty. It's ok. You and I, we know that it's art, right?" Kitty nodded as he went on, "even if the rest of the town doesn't believe it. Even if they think I'm a delinquent, you and I... We know... It's art to us. Works of beauty. The most beautiful woman I know celebrated as all women should be."
Kitty blushed. "Well," she said. "You're quite the contradiction, aren't you?" She asked, finally taking a seat beside him.
"Hmm?" Asked Artie, not quite comprehending.
"Contrary to what all the townsfolk think, you're the sweetest man I know, Artie Rose. You've treated me like a goddess right from the start. That's hardly deviant at all!" Artie reached for her hand across the table and she took it, squeezing gently." You're a contradiction." She said again with a bright smile. "The best kind of a contradiction."

Surprise! A Short Film Tribute

A few years back, I posted a story in memory of the legendary Robin Williams. Today, on the 2nd anniversary of his passing, I'd like to share this short film adaptation I've made from it in his honour. As with The Tale of The Three Brothers, there is no sound at first. It should also be noted that I am by no means a professional in the world of film making. I just do it for fun.

So, with that said, you can take a look at the short film below and read the original story here. I hope you enjoy them!

Sucked In

It was not like anything he'd ever seen before. His eyes grew wide in horror as he watched on helplessly. The only warning was that horrible sucking sound. He watched the countless bubbles that had once floated serenely along pop one by one as a current disrupted the once still water, quickly gaining strength. The tiny soap particles being sucked in, no chance at escape.

He held a hand to his mouth, stifling his gasp as the water became shallower still and started swirling swiftly around in a circle, the sucking sound growing louder. To the young boy, it all seemed like a scene from a horror movie. Something reminiscent of a small storm, forcing everything in close proximity into it's violently spinning clutches. Then, it would drop them down into it's unseen vortex, never to be seen again...

Then suddenly, all the water was gone. It disappeared down into the unseen vortex. The young boy gasped again before learning cautiously over the side of the tub to see if he could see any signs of the lost water down the drainpipe. Just like all the things that had been sucked in, the storm had gone. Almost as quickly as it had come. Leaving not a trace behind it.

Without You

It feels like just yesterday that we were together. It feels like just this morning I said goodbye for the last time. Except I didn't know. I didn't know that it would be the last time. You never think it will be. You never want to imagine it might be. You never, ever want it to be.

Some days I imagine you're being carried away from me. They've forced us apart. I can almost see you kicking with all your might and I can hear the painstaking sound of your screams and your fearful cries. I try to get to you, but you're just out of my reach. Every time I try and get closer, there's some invisible wall that forces me back each time I try. Not being able to reach you breaks my heart, and watching you go, in seeming slow motion, feels like torture.

Without you, it feels as I have been forced along. Forced through the days as more and more pass since the day I last saw you. They're dragging me further and further away from you and my desperate attempts at escape are helpless. So now I just sit here, crying silent tears because you're gone. Because they stole you away from me and I'd give anything in the world to have you back here with me. Because without you, all hope seems drained from the world.

Without you, I am trapped in a shadow. I don't even know where I am anymore. I am alone, all hope and light long gone from the world around me. Because they went with you. Each beat of my heart feels like a stab wound openly bleeding, each breath like it could well be my last. It doesn't feel like I can go on, and yet, somehow, I am forced on.

Without you, life has been stripped of meaning and purpose. I exist. I want so much to live, but I don't seem able to. The world is an odd mixture of red and blue. The purple that seeps through sings a sorrowful lament of wishes and lost dreams. White, pink, yellow and a different sort of blue are fading fast in my memory. I try to cling to them, a vein hope that something reminiscent of life with you may return, but they're quickly slipping away.

So I hold my breath, hoping with the last little bit of lingering hope I do have that I won't have to be without you forever. That I won;t be trapped here forever. It feels like it has been forever when a light appears from above and a hand extends down to me. I go weakly toward it on my hands and knees and struggle upward to reach it. It drags me up and out into the open world, full of colour.

Though the moment, I set down, the colour begins to slowly fade away, coming to stop on a washed out echo of what it once had been. This is the world now, without you in it. Not as dark and gloomy as before, but not as bright and joyous as with you in it.

Without you, the world is robbed of it's bright colour, it's happiness and joy. Without you, I seem to have forgotten what it feels like to have a friend. I've forgotten what it's like to be happy and to have hope. But as I look around, I can almost see faded echos of you. In the softness of the flower petals, the warmth of a fire.

You are everywhere. Everywhere but where I need you most. I don't want to trap you. I want to want to let you go. I want to want to set you free. But I am not ready, and I don't know if I will ever be ready. I am not ready for every single moment with you to just be a memory. I am not ready for you not to be here with me. I don't know how to live in a world without you in it, and it scares me. I don't know how to go on without you by my side.

Surely, it's got to get easier somehow. Surely, one day, I won't have the urge to cry or to scream. Surely one day, I won't want to just sit still and do nothing because I can't share it all with you. Surely, one day, it won't hurt every time I think of you. Surely, one day, I won't start to cry every time I say your name. It's got to get easier somehow, surely. Just, not today.