How about some creative fiction to start your weekend off on the right foot?

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Ultimatum

You’re going to think I am the bad guy. I know it. I don’t care though. See it as you will.

She was a nude model in my art class. After, she came to look at what I had drawn. This kind of behaviour is extremely rare. Normally the nude models get the truck outta there as soon as class is over. Must be weird, you know, having a room of people ogle you and scrutinize your every line, curve, and bulge but she was fearless. She was the kind of woman who commanded respect, by her mere presence.

Taking long pauses in between sentences she mused, “When I look at what you’ve done there, it stirs something in me… It makes me feel. It’s like… it creates a tension between all the facets of my self” she trailed off.

I’m not into new age crap like that, I couldn’t care less about her selves or her facets. I gave her some cocky response about my critics always noting my artwork was masterful at evoking emotion. She seemed surprised I had critics, so continuing with my arrogance, I explained that I only attended these classes for the nude models. I was an established artist not needing instruction or classes.

She was hot, but a little too femme for my liking. I liked to be the femme one in relationships, and didn’t want to compete. When she started to make advances, I briskly responded, “there are no vacancies in the friend hotel my dear, sorry.” I liked using seemingly innocuous but truly condescending words like “dear.”

I’ll just make a long story short by telling you this. Seven years of monogamy later we bought a house together. We were sexually compatible, and I’m a simple person. It doesn’t take much to keep me happy, so eventually she roped me in.

Well- things can’t stay simple forever I suppose. It was time for A TALK. She was telling me I was too self involved, all I thought about was my art, things had to change ex-cetera ex-cetera. She said that tomorrow was our anniversary and I needed to show her that she meant at least as much to me as my art, or she was leaving me. She asked me to wear a dress and heels, look sexy, and meet her for dinner at Chardullos.

She said something like that. I didn’t hear really. I was too distracted watching the way the moonlight was reflecting onto her hair. I was noticing how the glow of the streetlights intermingled with the smoke from my cigarette and illuminated her face. I remembered the deadline for my upcoming show and fleetingly wondered if I had any cobalt blue oil paint left.

The next day, I was painting with fervor. I was painting that moment, the look on her face, the smoke, her expression so pregnant with emotion. I was covered in paint, I had been painting all day, all night. A momentary glance at my watch revealed that it was almost midnight.

I heard her burst in, her keys hitting the side table loudly breaking any concentration I had achieved. She looked at me, looked at the painting, and started sobbing uncontrollably.

My critics always noted my artwork was masterful at evoking emotion.

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This story was written by Krista from The Silent K, an eclectic hobbiest/artist who is passionate about art. Unlike the character in the story, she has no critics and would gladly benefit from taking some drawing classes. The writing prompt she chose to write this story was this:

Write a short scene in which one character reduces another to uncontrollable sobs without touching him or speaking.

This post is part of the September Blog Exchange. This month’s exchange is a little different – we’re all writing short (fictional) stories based on the 13 Writing Prompts found at McSweeney’s. Meanwhile, I’m hanging out and sipping martinis at Krista’s site today, and the full list of participants can be found by clicking here.