The Scream

I woke up this morning and was no longer an idea tucked away into the recesses of his dark mind. There he was, the stool on which he sat hunched his back till his shoulders ate away his neck. A single light hung above us casting shadows over his pallid face; leaving the rest of the world in oblivion. His concentrated gazed flickered from me, to the pallet in his hand, and back again. A cocktail of anxiety and madness kept his eyes wide and unblinking. His hands worked confidently and the brush glided over me like a skater on untouched ice.

I could feel myself begin to take form. My body curved and stretched and swirled with the surrounding paint. My eyes were wide like my creator’s and two cool hands rested on my elongated cheeks. I watched his brush dab and mix together reds, oranges, yellows, blues, and browns. How I longed to turn in my two dimensional form and survey the masterpiece taking shape around me. Finally, with a thin brush and a quick stroke I had a mouth and the banshee cry I had left behind in the dark abyss reverberated through my being once more.