(old - check out the newer, revamped version of To Make Art)

The Amateur artist awaits the Professional as he leans against his truck. He covers his eyes with sunglasses and surveys the tree atop the hill as a distant whir comes closer. That must be Cassandra, he thinks and pulls an ax out from the bed, eager to get to work. A rusted-thru station wagon bounces out from the brush and follows his tracks and slows to a stop just beside his truck. The engine rattles to a quiet as the door slightly opens but stops. He wonders whether she has the windows down or if she has windows at all.

“Cassandra?” he calls.

“Yeah, Tale, righ’?” she says with a grunt.

“It’s Dale,” he says.

Cassandra shoves the door a couple times and asks, “Can ya’, well,” she shoves again, “can ya’ help a gal out?”

Dale steps up to the station wagon. He grabs the handle and gives it a pull, but it breaks off. “S**t. Sorry,” he says and puts the handle atop of her car, but it drops through the roof and onto her back seat.

“Don’ worry ‘bout it,” she says in a tone that says she’s smiling below the red handkerchief around her mouth, “Well, jus’ try tuggin’ on the frame while I push from in here.”

Dale pulls as Cassandra gives a shove.

“Goddam, this piece-a-s**t is stuck as heck,” she says.

Dale puts a boot against her car, beside the door, and pulls again. His boot goes through the car but the door rips open. He pulls his boot out and falls to the grass as Cassandra exits the station wagon, wearing a far too large denim coat.

“Thanks fer that, Tale” she says. His dark sunglasses flicker up at her in the setting sun and she gleefully hops up and down. “Oh, sunglasses! I haven’ a proper mirror in days!”

“Uh,” he utters as Cassandra takes off her cap and lets down her frazzled blond hair and removes her goggles, showcasing bright blue eyes with a pale goggle-shaped silhouette, the surrounding areas caked in dirt.

“Don’ have a windshield neither,” she says combing her fingers through her hair, her eyes fixed on Dale’s dark sunglasses. She picks up a bottle and squirts some water in her hands and cleans her face then pours some in her hair. Should I get up? Dale thinks. He decides and begins to sit up but she begs, “Naw, please, jus’ another moment. Please,” and he sits against his truck for another couple minutes as she fixes her hair and cleans her face. Dale watches her shift her head from left to right, up and down, angled here to there. Her face isn’t that pale, he thinks as Cassandra bites her bottom lip and adjusts her reflection. He thinks about how they’re looking at the same feature, but there’s something different about how he sees it. Before his eyes she was dirty and he watched her transform into this beautiful golden blond woman standing over him.

“Done,” she says and abruptly turns away toward the tree. 

Dale thoughtfully stands up and steps beside Cassandra. They both share the scene for a moment. He dramatically says, “There is beauty in these hills, Cassandra. Let’s go mine it.” He’d been waiting to say that all day.

“How ya’ think we should do it, Tale?” Cassandra asks, paying no mind.

“Well,” Dale says, slightly hurt, “I have a couple of axes for the tree, got the Bobcat for the hill. Or we can just start a fire.”

“Yeah, but that’ll be very messy an’ I’m wearin’ white,” she says with a pondering finger atop her lips.

“White?”

“Yeah,” she says and unzips her denim coat. She pulls it off, unveiling her shin-length white dress. Cassandra hands the coat to the Amateur and smiles, “Can ya’ beat that for me, Tale? I don’t wanna dirty the dress.”

“Wha-,“ Dale sputters but resigns himself to beat the dust off as he thinks, Who goes out to make art in white? “Fine. Let’s go with the axes. We’ll start with the tree. And, by the way, it’s Dale.”

“Like, with a D?”

Dale nods and hands her an ax.

“Well, I prefer Tale,” Cassandra says with a face and they head up the hill.

Dale looks down at the Professional’s dress, “Appears as though your dress is already a bit dirty about the bottom.”

“Right,” she says with an enthusiastic nod, “I only make art in this dress. And when It’s ready, it’ll be art itself,” she hugs her ax as if hugging the thought, “A thousand stories of art speckled along this canvas. Like meta art. These dark splotches righ’ here are from when I cut my knee craftin’ a sculpture from a statue. And this tear down the left along my leg’s from sawin’ off antlers and those splotches are from when I gutted that beautiful deer for its hide. That part’s my favorite.”

Dale chuckles, “Guess that explains your boots and gloves, too.”

“Yep. I know how to make art, Tale. Been doin’ this all my life. Only way’s to get yer hands dirty. But, ‘Ya gotta have hands to dirty,’ my Pa always say back home. Well, not my father. I only call’im Pa ‘cause he was the first to show me the art of it all. Not how it has come together, but how it comes apart. The why of it.”

“Makes sense,” Dale says, uncertain if it makes sense, “So… where’s home?”

“Bout Southern where that end of the Appalash was.”

“Good country, I hear. A lot freer than Bridgeport, Chicag.”

“Oh, right! This whole drive, I fergot you were from Ol’ Chicago! I always wanna go see the ruins. I bet they’re beautiful,” she says, again holding her ax as if a thought.

“Mostly been picked clean. It does have its moments, though - when the moonlight hits Lake Mitch just right and bounces around the Tall Black.”

Cassandra continues holding her ax tightly as they come to the tree. Dale immediately starts hacking at the trunk and Cassandra eagerly follows suit but continues talking, “I wonder what this general did.”

“I’d imagine he was a pretty good one to get a mound. And this willow tree, too,” Dale says.

“Which war ya’ think he fought?" Cassandra asks, "The Old one? The World’s War? Civilian?”

Dale puts down the ax for a breath but Cassandra keeps swinging with a determined face. He looks at her and says, “Old War, definitely. The mound is old but not Civilian old. And sure as hell ain’t World’s. That one wasn’t even fought here.” Dale looks down the hill and at her station wagon with its rusted-thru roof. “Sorry about the handle and side. I can give you some ‘looms for the damage. And I am sure you’ll be able to afford a mirror after this haul.”

Cassandra stops swinging and without looking at Dale she says, “I said don’ worry ‘bout it.”

“It’s no trouble,” Dale assures, “It’s the least I could do.”

She takes a breath and says, “Apologies, but I make my art and I make my way. You’ve already done more for me than most just by contactin’ me ‘bout this site.”

“Well, I’ve seen your art. It’s to die for. Truly.”

Cassandra returns to her cheery disposition and warmly holds her ax again, “And far more than a mirror! And somethin’ better than that ol’ rust wheeler and more! This is our payday, Tale. This is my break!”
“Glad to see you eager. Look, we gotta make this quick. Far as I know, it’s only me and you who know about this place. But I am sure that’ll change soon. We need to get as much as we can and get out. So, let’s focus on this tree today. How ‘bout it, Cassandra?”

“Sure thing. But, please,” she says as she brushes some blond strands away from her face with her glove, “call me Cassie.” She continues looking into Dale’s dark sunglasses for his eyes but abruptly looks away. Dale starts hacking anew and Cassandra thoughtfully does as well.

The altering swings mimic the ticking of a clock counting down before Dale yells, “Timber!” and Cassandra laughs. The willow starts to sway, but she isn’t watching. Her eyes are daydreaming on Dale. It creaks and begins to lean toward her. A slow laying of a giant head toward its green grassy pillow. “Cassandra!” Dale yells as he runs and pushes her from the falling tree and takes her place as the weeping willow crashes down. His sunglasses are knocked from his head. “S**t. S**t,” he mutters to himself, his leg stuck beneath the tree.

“Tale!” she cries, getting up, “are you okay?”

He tries to move but yelps, “F**k! I think my ankle’s broken."

“You saved m’ life,” Cassandra says, barely able to look at him. “Why?” the Professional asks, suddenly bashful.

“What?” the Amateur says, dumbfounded, still squirming beneath the tree. “Look, just help me lift this a bit and maybe I can get my leg out.”

Cassandra smiles and blushes. She looks down coyly. The wind flows along her white dress. Her blue eyes flicker and their lashes bat. Her nostrils flare.

“Cassandra,” Dale says, “What’s that -“

“It’s Cassie,” the Professional states.

“What’s that look for, Cassie?”

“I’m sorry, Tale,” the Professional states with a dash of joy.

“For - for what, Cassie?” the Amateur breathlessly asks.

The Professional stoops down, careful not to dirty her dress. She grips her ax then shrugs, “I think I love you,” she says with an excited sigh.

There’s a silence and the dead willow whispers to the artist on her shoulders.

“Cassie, don’t - don’t look at me like that, Cassie,” the Amateur pleads, manically tugging his leg, ignoring the pain.

“I’m sorry, Tale,” the Professional states again. Her blush hasn’t gone away and neither has her smile. She lifts her ax above her head, “I love your eyes. They’re beautiful.”

Reviews

[pia]

this was so unexpected that it gave me goosebumps
omg i was so shipping Dale and Cassandra
until the end that left me shook !!!!
this was amazing
well written with an amazing plot
this is what a good write is !!! ((applause)
maybe u could turn this into a book or something cuz id definitely read it !!

[Kibbles and Quips]

Thank you so much, Pia!
I wrote a version of this for a writing prompt which stated something like "Art can only become art by destroying something else." Well, I liked the idea behind what I had originally written and decided to revamp/expand upon it and came up with this.

Regardless, I definitely do see expansion potential, perhaps even a book, but I have a couple other books I am working on right now so I am gonna have to shelf this one for the time being. However, I do ideas for Cassandra moving forward and more history and lore of this world they live in but not much else than that.

But thank you so much for reading and for your kind words! It's always such a great joy hearing that someone likes my work.

-Kenn

P.S. Sorry about Dale and Cassandra's failed ship.
:(

[Delmar Cooper]

Thanks for the story. It held my interest all the way and left me with unanswered questions which is pretty much the same thing as wanting more, always a winning trait in a short narrative.

[Kibbles and Quips]

Thanks for reading! And, curious, what are your unanswered questions?

[Delmar Cooper]

The unanswered questions are not important, or not so important as the fact that they exist. Their existence proves the reader is intrigued. But:
What differentiates a "professional" from an "amateur"?
If a professional is by definition paid: how paid, in what currency, and what will that currency buy? Certainly not auto parts, as the story illustrates.
What happened to precipitate such a world?
How did art become redefined so?
Who redefined it?
Who buys it?
Who are the art aficionados, who are the art Philistines?
How does an amateur contact and arrange a meeting with a professional?
Does not even an amateur recognize the risk involved in meeting a professional?
Those kind of questions; questions that are merely logistical.

[Kibbles and Quips]

These are great! Thanks so much for listing them! This might be my next big project (actually, I have started writing some more already), so these help a lot.

But, I see I forgot to include this note: The inspiration for this was from a Writing Prompt saying, "There can be no creation without destruction. This is the only truth in a world where a thing only becomes art when it is destroyed."

Naturally, I did my own world building beyond that, though.

[Delmar Cooper]

Yeah, that quote would have been appropriate, or that mention of the prompt. The quote is interesting bullshit.

[Coyote Poetry]

A amazing tale. Not the love tale I expected. Cassandra became tempting and very dangerous. Last words. Words of love and ax. A interesting ending. Thank you HandsomeKenn for sharing the amazing tale. I did enjoy.
Coyote

[Kibbles and Quips]

Hey thanks, Coyote! I wrote a version of this for a writing prompt that stated something like "Art only becomes art once something is destroyed." I liked the idea I had so I took a more in depth approach and revamped it to come up with this. I really enjoyed writing it and creating the world. Thank you for reading and commenting. I am so happy you enjoyed it as well!

-Kenn

[Coyote Poetry]

I did enjoy Kenn and you are welcome my friend.

[ASMA]

Unexpected twist....