The Space Is Empty

914 WordsSep 29, 20164 Pages
The space is empty, only a shadowy figure can be seen. Their bright silver eyes pierce into my soul. A mischievous smile is drawn upon its face, sending chills down my spine. Their long curvy horns are attached to each side of its dark smoky face. Their long tail is divided into three wispy strands. It approaches slowly, as if waiting for an opportunity to strike. I try to escape, but my legs are under a wave of fear. The figure is closing its distance, raising its arm out towards me. I prepare for the worst, but no attack came in contact. Instead, it held out its shadowy hand. “Do you wish to find the truth?” Truth…? “Who are you…? Why am I-” “I will only answer if you agree.” I hesitate to answer. I can’t trust this creature as well as…show more content…
The room is shaped in a large circle, containing stacks of broken canvases and papers drenched in dark liquid. Small waterfalls of black and white flow into small pools. The remaining waterfalls are empty, only small drops fill the basins. To the side of it are an array of ruined art utensils, with gallons of black water overflowing its container. Long marks are carved into the doors in the back of the room. It was every artists’ worst nightmare. “Now where was it…?” It searches through the piles of canvases and papers, tossing each one to the side. While it searches for whatever it’s looking for, I explore the rest of the room in hopes remembering how I ended up in this place. More importantly a way out. I open some of the drawers to discover more broken utensils and crumbled pieces of paper. I open some of the crumbled papers in hope for a note or journal entry, only find sketches of people. How can someone waste all these materials…? I close the drawers, feeling sorry about the misused materials. Moving on from the drawers, I open the nearby doors. Art books, papers, pencils, markers, everything is stacked up on the dusty shelfs in an organized way. How much supplies does an artist need…? I sigh in defeat, leaning against the wall. Not a single hint of a door with a neon sign saying EXIT. “Aha! I finally found you!” The dark figure holds up a large canvas in victory. It then carries it to the center, and with a wave of its hand, a metal easel
Open Document