The Painter Teller

“everyone’s doing it” she overheard the group say
“it’s so odd, but it’s worth a try”

She put her blunt pencil down
between the rustic pages
of her coffee splattered doodle book
and closed it

She diverted her attention to them
a circle of girls, who looked like a flock
of beautiful birds, over a bowl of seeds
she would hear murmurs and chuckles
just like them, when they chirp in communication

“I felt so naked, but I went through with it”
said another

She tilted her legs towards them
and absorbed what she wanted to
she filtered the bullshit and gathered
the essentials

“His dingy place is up the stairs
between the pub and the sandwich place”

She was always thirsty for a story
her doodle book was her haven
it had bits and pieces
of love stories, scratches of experiences
analogies, sexy words, new words,
quotes by people, quotes by her drunk self
quotes the pavement whispered to her
sayings, her bed sheets hugged her by
she was as thirsty for words
as she is on Thursday after work

She doodled the address in that book
next to the paragraph about the fisherman
and his love for lady sea
she boxed it with her pencil
curvy lines,
she always wondered why she couldn’t
draw straight lines, was she drunk 24/7
or is that simply her nature? who knows?
she knows she doesn’t!!

She gathered her side bag
hugged her doodle book near
and walked, she knew the references
so all she had to do was
head there

Unsure if she had a drink or not
she decided to quench her thirst
with a shot before heading by the creaking stairs
they looked like they’ve seen some history
on there

She studied them,
their appearance was studded with
droplets of paint
“pollock would have been proud”

She reached the door,
its color has faded from the original
it’s now light blue, time took its toll on it
some scratches and even creases
the LSD themed posters
did not instill some comfort
but ..some confusion

“what am I walking into?”

She knocked
but before her hand landed on the door
it opened
the whole room was splattered with streaks of color
blotches of newspapers floated on the ceiling
and empty white canvases hung on the walls at eye level

“Hello?” she looked around
Until her sight landed on an old man
in the corner with a bucket of paint
and a brush drizzling its left over paint
all over

“You heard them, didn’t you
Set that book down, this one is for you”

She felt like she was in a dream,
she couldn’t vocalize,
she set the book on the table that held
a lava lamp next to green crystal ball
she just noticed, that there’s a lot of them
some even hung from the ceiling, others rested
and rolled on the floor

“everyone is doing it yea?” he laughed

“I am fortune teller
I don’t bullshit palm lines
nor do I read crystal balls,
I just like how the light refracts from them
scaling my pollock attempt with its light”

She walked close to him
to examine the truth, if she could
from his face, he grabbed her
her body got numb, she was alone
with a pseudo-crazy old man
in a cubed room of colors

He seated her on a stool
whose original color was no where to be detected
underneath the color tantrum that goes on – she assumed
This is your canvas, let’s see that future

He dipped his brush in the can next to him
and splattered it on the tabula rasa
his eyes looked surprised
and instilled some in her too

She watched as the colors dripped
on the floor, she expected something awesome to shine through

“hmmm” he hummed

He got another bucket
and emptied the whole thing
on the canvas…
still, that expression of worry started
to scare her

“This is interesting he said
all my canvases have paintings of each future
for some reason my dear, yours scares me
my brush falls dead, my paint falls through
your canvas is as pure”

“I am going to try something new”
he got a bucket of transparent liquid
threw it on the canvas
lit a match  and threw it

his eyes glowed with a sense of achievement
and hers with life

“I see it now”
he said with a sly smile
“Come, come”

She frantically stood up
and looked at the burning canvas
realizing the flames contouring
a masterpiece

“I can’t quite make up
what it is, let the flames be
let’s watch as it burns
the dead space”

“WAIT” she screamed
she heard her voice

“let it burn
it’s beautiful
it’s sadistically beautiful”

He sat there, with teary eyes
realizing that this girl
is a lost soul
truly a burning one
simultaneously igniting
her future
at she stands there
in the
of fire

“my fortune telling gift
has dimmed in the presence
of you” he poetically and silently narrated
as he stood there, marveling at her

“burn my darling,
let it burn
I have not seen
such passion for life

burning woman


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