BlankA Story by Tara♥Undefined♥What has this world done unto intself? What will be it's consequence?The artist stared down the canvas. The canvas that had taken his life. The canvas was blakn. No emotions. Nothing. It needed him, but the artist could not work. The canvas would not except his paintings.
He painted mountains, valleys, lakes and trees, but still the canvas dispelled the art. It would not except it. Never had the artist felt so much shame.
"Why?" he cried, "Why will you not keep them?" He was so upset he couldn't think. He hadn't eaten or slept in many days. The now scrawny, pathetic looking artist looked up at the, again, blank canvas and cried more. Then, he heard somethng coming from the direction of the canvas, but it seemed to be emitting from all around him as well.
"You feel nothing in your work. You are as blank as me. Believe. Believe" Then, a harsh wind blew threw the small, dark room and the lights went out.
The artist was awestruck, but managed his brush ever so gently as he moved it across the canvas in bold colors of blue and orange. The canvas remained that way for a moment and then began to fade once more. The artist screamed "No!" and with that final call, the artist fell, dead on the ground. He had not given himself the strength to withstand failure.
As his body disintegrated itto the darkness the canvas began to bring back all the work he had emited. As the pictures overlapped themselves they began to form the artist's true work. The painting was of himself, lying on the floor. For this is what his work had turned into. His end. © 2010 Tara♥Undefined♥Author's Note
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3 Reviews Added on February 9, 2010 Last Updated on February 9, 2010 AuthorTara♥Undefined♥canton, OHAboutI am Savannah! Heello!!!^^ I love writing(obviously) I love to sing and dance and stuff. I like the rainy days better than sunny ones and Im crazy too. Well, Idk wat else to tell you.. more..Writing
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