The Time of my Life

The Time of my life

I am a painter.

I have loved painting ever since I can remember. It is probably the one thing I am good at.

I love to paint nature, but unlike many an artist, I prefer to paint what is immediately around us – in our daily lives – rather than a beautiful sunrise in far Tahiti or a polar bear in the Arctic. Not that there is anything wrong with those. In fact, painting something so far off does require a great deal of imagination and talent. The very purpose of such paintings is to take the viewer far away from the daily monotonies of life. To give him/her a whiff of fresh air. A welcome relief, yes, but how long could it last? Ten minutes? At first sight, you go, “Wow, how beautiful!” And then you imagine yourself sitting on that clean spit of yellow sand watching the sun’s rays shimmer off the crystal blue water. Maybe the odd dolphin leaping out of one corner of your vision. A moment of bliss later, you wake up to the fact that you are neither in Tahiti nor could you possibly contemplate a vacation there with the kind of living you earn.

That is precisely the reason why I choose to paint the world we live our daily lives in. When you look closely enough, you would be surprised to find many simply but effective frames that would bring a smile on your face. A snapshot of a young boy picking up a lady’s dropped purse or of the kids running after the balloon-man would bring the same rejuvenation to your parched imagination as would the Tahiti sunrise or the polar bear. Perhaps, you might appreciate it more because it is more plausible to you.

So when I set up my easel every morning in one corner of the cobbled old main street on the outskirts of Strasbourg I just look around me and start painting the first thing I see.

The morning was perfect. It was clear and the sky was blue, save the few fluffs of white wafting about. It was cool and the spring colours were evident in the foliage. As I turned right and slightly behind me down the slope to look towards the stone bridge at the end of the street, I saw something that was distinctive. Not that a lady taking a break from walking her poodle in the morning to look down at the creek is a novelty, but there was something unique about this lady. Or perhaps it was the poodle. It could have been the way she was standing with a slight tilt of her head. I think it was her lovely blue hat and the graceful poise. It must have been all these factors, for I already had my brush dipped into the petri-dish and the first stroke of paint on the clean canvas felt smooth.

I started with the bridge itself. The old grey cobbles that make up the road and the slightly elevated sidewalk on either side. One could not miss the simple yet lovely one-two pattern that the juxtaposed cobbles made on the road. The aged parapet itself was neat with a slightly decorative balustrade that was adorned with a newly installed metal hand rail inset with aesthetic curves and painted gold to reflect the sun. The old intricately designed lamp-posts were still there (and very much functional in the night) – just that the oil wicks had recently given way to fluorescent bulbs. The glass boxed lamp-hoods atop the posts made the scene that bit richer.

Now that the bridge was done, I could stand the lady on it. I started with an outline to bring out her poise. A slim figure, just right for the height, crafted with dexterity by His hands, striking a self-confident pose naturally, without ever trying to. She had her right hand on the rail and also holding onto her poodle’s leash and with her left she was trying to adjust her hat which, had slightly moved with the fresh morning zephyr coming from behind her and the other side of the bridge.

From my point-of-view, I could see the pure white glove on her left hand extending to her elbow as she held the brim of her hat. The hat itself was lovely. Light blue with a simple and elegant frill and a neat ribbon, it had a wide brim that flopped a little in the light breeze. The way she wore it, at a gentle tilt, cast a slight shadow on the left side of her face. A golden coil of hair fell down by her ear.

The face was one of the most beautiful I have set my eyes upon. Perfectly moulded with flawlessly youthful skin and neatly positioned and proportioned features, she looked a goddess without wearing any makeup. Her cheek had a natural pale pink blush and her eyes were clear and strong. I could not make out the colour of her eyes but I am reasonably sure it would be an electric blue.

I followed her gaze and in her line of sight I found white mother goose and her five fledglings, frolicking in the water that was as calm as a millpond. That was the sight that had brought on a slight smile which made an ever so gentle dimple that highlighted the exotic beauty of the face.

My painting was coming along quite nicely and I added in the simple details of her elegant frock. By her side was the poodle, with his tongue hanging out and tail wagging at a canine friend being pulled along by a man on his morning walk. There were a few other people about who fit into the scope of my vision.

I added in the colourful undulating surrounds, blue water, the geese family and distant church steeple on the far side of the bridge. The blue sky dotted with a few fluffy clouds and some pigeons about. Nearer in perspective, the road leading to the bridge on my side and old quaint buildings on either side.

I had almost finished and the canvas looked so rich with colour and the lady in the middle of it all stunningly beautiful. I looked towards the bridge and the lady to see if I had missed anything. She had moved and was now walking leisurely towards this side of the bridge. I noticed the one ornament she wore. A single sparkling diamond set in an outline of a heart made of white gold. The chain itself was almost invisible. I added in the diamond, that her left hand might have covered up in the distance when she was leaning on the hand rail.

I was done. I stood back to admire my work and felt very pleased. Here it was, a lovely picture of a beautiful woman walking her dog and taking a break to look at some geese having fun in the water. The simplicity of the scene made it so fresh and easy to relate to. It was very plausible too. I was just finishing with my signature and date at the right bottom corner of the canvas when I heard a light footstep behind me. I looked up and found the lady in my picture staring at the canvas. I looked at her eyes and they were soft and brown – not electric blue – but it made her look even prettier.

“Wow, how beautiful! What a wonderful painting.” She looked down at the bridge from where we stood and I followed her line of sight to see an old man with a cane stopping to admire the view from the very spot she had been a few minutes ago. Then she looked at the painting again.

Turning to me she asked, “May I buy this one, please?”

She offered me ten francs. It was a large sum of money in the year 1975 and my needs were simple. It would take care of me for a week.

Besides, in painting it, I had had the time of my life which, to me, is priceless.

* * *

‘Grandpa, why are you crying?’ My grandson, who turned ten today, was confused. I had not realized tears had welled in my eyes and were beginning to drop. Mistake not, those were not tears of sadness, instead those were tears of joy.

As I took my grandson’s hand in mine, and walked towards the steps, I contemplated the certificate I held in the other hand. “…inducted into the Louvre Hall of Fame for his fantastic depiction of Ms. Audrey Hepburn…”

I took one last look at the picture I had painted thirty one years ago sitting in a glass covered panel admired by a hundred different people. The tour guide was explaining to the crowd that the painting on the wall was worth more than a million dollars.

I turned away and walked down the steps holding my grandson’s hand.

‘Like I said, my young lad, those were simple times and I was a simple man. I had had the time of my life earning ten francs. And I have cherished that feeling all these years and it still feels more powerful than today.’

He did not seem to understand and had a confused look on his face. But only for moment, for he had spotted the colourful balloons that the man on the street was hawking.

‘May I have one of those balloons, grandpa?’

‘Sure you can. It is your birthday.’

Perhaps, to him, his tenth birthday and the balloon I buy for him would be the time of his life.

In Passing...

In Passing …

It was a lovely day.

The sun shone bright and the skies were clear. The cool autumn breeze was fresh and laden with the sweet concoction of smells from all the falling leaves. The birds sang merry songs up in the trees. I could hear a well in the distance and dogs barking. I walked along at a gentle pace breathing in the pure country air. I felt rejuvenation – something I had not felt in a little while.

I crunched my way on the cobbled street covered with dry fallen maple leaves, whistling a tune to myself. A little scamp passed by on his dilapidated cycle followed by his bounding poodle which was desperately trying to decide which was the better thing to chase – his master or his own tail. They did not seem to notice me and went their way.

The road sloped into a little valley, gently at first and then more steeply. As I came into the vale, I could see neat little houses, all set in nice rows. Spires of smoke rose from the chimneys of some and maids were about in the vegetable patches looking for potatoes and leeks perhaps.

I went past them and then the road turned towards the right. I followed it. It started growing dark. I noticed that the trees were denser here than the valley I had just left. The road sloped upwards now and was surprisingly bereft of fallen leaves. They must have been blown away down the slope by the wind that was coming down. I could feel a slight drop in the temperature.

I wanted to see where this road led to. It was not as if I had anything else to do anyway, so I continued on. A little further up, I could see a clearing emerge. The trees seemed to fall away to either side and as I came into the clearing the cobbled road ended and from there onwards it became a mowed grassy path lined with neatly pruned hedges.

The path led on straight about a hundred meters to a magnificent Victorian mansion. It looked an impressive sight standing tall in the middle of a lush green plateau set amidst the dense foliage of the mountain. Mammoth Oaks and firs and cedars lined the edge of the lawns on three sides.

My curiosity aroused, I approached the building. I could make out some people strolling about in the gardens in front. I saw more of them on the left of the building. And some more on the right. Almost everybody was dressed in black, completely formal and sombre. I could feel heaviness in the air.

I realized I had walked straight into a funeral! The funeral of a rich man. Possibly the owner and lord of this mansion.

I slowly walked into the gardens careful to stay away from the people lest they see me as intruding. I recognized the Lord Mayor of the town and his wife talking with the local councilor. He was saying, “He was a fine man. A man with great riches, but also one with a great heart. He gave to all without hesitation. It will be a long time before this town sees another soul like him.”

At the mention of soul, the councilor, a small man shuddered involuntarily and murmured ascent, “God bless his soul”, and crossed himself before excusing himself.

The Lord Mayor stared at him for a while through his monocle and then continued the conversation with his wife.

I passed a young couple. The girl was trying to console her partner.

“He was a good man. I liked him. Everybody liked him. It is tragic. Your brother was very kind to us all. He will find peace.”

“Oh, it should not have happened like this.” … sob…sob … “in the prime of his life” … sob … sob …

I pressed on slowly down the gardens towards the side of the house. I saw a large garage that could house six automobiles. There was a bright red Lamborghini in the center. I saw to the right, a Ford All Terrain and a pickup. In the far left corner sat a Morris Oxford resplendent in olive green and with gleaming silver chrome. The family limousine occupied a larger bay next to the Morris. One slot to the left of the Lamborghini was empty.

“Loved cars my master did. He took out the Spider like every morning but he never came back,” the gardener was pointing out the vacant space to a police constable who was taking notes disinterestedly. “The truck pushed the car clear off the cliff”.

I loved cars myself and I felt sorry for the guy to have gone the way he did.

I had almost reached the far end of the lawns near the back of the building when I noticed four men digging a trench. I could see the previous generation’s marked graves and the ornate head stones. I did not like the feel of it and started walking back. I wanted to leave this place. I had seen enough.

I was passing the garage on my way back to the grassy path when all the people started moving towards the front as well. I fell in among the crowd as they quietly and reverently congregated around the front porch.

The hearse arrived slowly. A black Lincoln limousine adorned with white wreaths drove up the path. I noticed the arrival area was covered in a layer of pure white lilies and a table was set up for the final homage. At the table waited the bishop in his funeral robes.

The hearse drew up and stopped noiselessly. Six pall-bearers lifted the casket and set it gracefully atop the table. The top half of the lid was open but I could not see the face from the back of the crowd.

The Bishop said a short prayer and then people filed in with wreaths and bunches of flowers to place beside the casket. Some cried inconsolably. I saw the brother shaking his head all the time in utter disbelief, held onto tightly by his partner. The Lord Mayor placed a red ribbon and a medal beside the casket. It was the Victoria Cross for distinguished service to the community and the nation. The last memorial was read by the Bishop and the last few people stepped forward to pay their respects.

I walked up behind them, clutching a white blossom.

I saw the face.

I was stupefied. The whole world started spinning before me and I suddenly felt far far away, as though I was looking upon this scene from up above the clouds.

I did not notice the casket being closed. The crowd began moving as the pall-bearers lifted the casket and set on its final journey – towards the grave. Flowers were strewn ahead of the procession.

The sun had gone down behind a cloud and I walked up behind the procession until they came to a halt beside the grave. I watched as they lifted the casket and lowered it in.

I could hear faintly, “ashes to ashes….dust to dust….”

The sign of the cross was made and mud was tossed in. People moved away until only the diggers remained.

As they started filling up the grave, my vision started to blur. I could not see the people anymore. I could not see the house anymore. I felt darkness close in on me and a rush of panic rose in my stomach. I wanted to go back. I had things to take care of.

Then I saw it. A bright source of light not far away. I reached with my hand and felt being led towards it. I reached it. I stopped.

For a moment everything became clear again. I could see the mansion and the people. I could see the garden and the path. I could even see the road I had taken and the green valley. The tramp kept on his cycle, like he always did, followed by his faithful poodle, like it always did. And the maids continued to reap potatoes, like they always did.

A feeling of happiness welled up inside of me and at once it was clear to me what I had to do.

No one saw me pass through the light.

- The End
A short story
29-June-2006.

E. S. P. (a.k.a.) The Sixth Sense

E. S. P. a.k.a. The Sixth Sense
(Extra-Sensory Perception)

The knocking woke him up.

It was dark. After all it was the middle of the night. The luminous dial of the time-piece by his bed told him it was 2 am.

The knocking came again, loud, continuous, and urgent. He tried to adjust his vision to the darkness and stumbled out of bed. A pale glow came in through the window and he felt a cold draught. It surprised him. The windows were closed. She always made sure of that each night. He reached for the light switch when his foot caught on something and he almost tripped. He got the switch and in the bright light he saw her.

It was a macabre sight. She lay in a weirdly contorted position on the ground her neck obviously broken and a trickle of blood on the floor seeping from under her hair. The shattered remains of a glass and its contents were strewn around her.

He tried to scream, but no sound would come out. He tried to move, but he did not know which way to go. His mind has been paralyzed by shock. Fear gripped his every nerve.

This time, again, it was the knocking that got him back to his senses. It was more than just knocking now. It was desperate banging. He shook himself and moved out of the bedroom and into the living room towards the main door. The banging grew more intense.

As he passed the fireplace, his hand automatically grabbed a china flower-vase. He did not even notice he did it. Something suddenly was different. The knocking! It had ceased. He moved to the door and slid the deadbolt and turned the knob. It wouldn't budge. He tried again. The door opened so suddenly onto him that he staggered backwards. He felt himself bodily lifted and thrown into the far wall of the room. He flew in the air and landed onto the fireplace. The delicate vase he was clutching shattered. He crashed to the ground and his whole body felt like it had been through a full cycle in a washing machine.

The menacing form came through the door and slowly advanced towards him, making a weird gurgling noise. His vision was blurred with his own sweat and blood and he could not see exactly what it was. Instinct told him to run and adrenaline came to his rescue. He got up. Miraculously he had not broken any bones from his being tossed. He frantically looked around for a weapon. His eye fell upon the heavy iron poker by the fireplace. It was about five feet away and the creature was almost on him.

He lunged towards the fireplace and just got to the poker moments before the creature was upon him. He thrust the pointed end at the creature's face with all his might and heard the crushing impact of iron on bone and felt the jarring contact at the same time. It gave out a howl and backed away.

He realized he had momentary respite and took the chance to run towards the open door. He got through safely enough and ran out onto the corridor. He saw three more hideous creatures advancing from the left of the long corridor and he ran right. It was not a difficult choice to make really.

He ran on. He tried to think at the same time. What was happening? How did these creatures come inside? The bubble was safe territory. The outer shields were impregnable. It was impossible for them to have got in! But here they were. Why did they come to his quarters? What had happened to the others? He had not passed anyone yet. He remembered her. She was dead. No question about that. The creature or creatures had killed her.

He stopped running. He strained to hear any noise that might warn him of approaching danger. No sound came. He looked around. He was next to the canteen area. He knew down the corridor past the canteen and up a flight of steps was the weapons store. They never carried any weapons normally but kept a store just in case. Just in case of what, no one was really sure. But he was sure that now was just such a case.

He could reach the weapons store in under a minute. First though he had to get the bio-electronic signature pass-key to open the store doors. Only one person on the station had access. This was the programs co-coordinator and head of station. Her quarters were not far from where he stood. Cautiously he peered around the corner. Nothing in sight. As quietly as possible he went in the direction of the senior staff quarters. As he rounded the last corner and approached the access door he caught sight of one ugly fiery creature come bounding towards him. He fumbled for his access card that he always wore around his neck on a plastic string and shoved the card in across the face of the reader.

The doors opened with a faint hiss. He rushed inside and hit the red button set on the wall just inside the door. The doors began to close. The doors almost closed completely when the creature smashed into it like a super-charged bull. The door buckled under the enormous force and the circuitry disintegrated. Luckily the doors did not pop open. Instead they got well and truly jammed. The creature started pounding on it.

He knew he just had moments before it got through the doors. He looked around to find the co-coordinator. That was when he saw the bodies. There were at least five of them in that room. He could see four more bodies in the adjacent room. All nine of them were dead! There were only eleven of them at the station. He was the only one alive! The realization struck him like a bolt out of a crossbow. He saw the co-coordinator lying in the next room. He stooped to pick up her wrist-band that would give him access to the weapons store. He noticed that her neck was also broken. Like some powerful force had turned it rapidly about 270 degrees. The trickle of blood left no doubt as to the nature of death.

The banging now grew louder. There was more than one creature outside that door. There was no way out. Think! There must be some other way other than the door. He saw the air duct on the ceiling. Quickly he dragged a reclining chair under it and stood on it. A firm push and the duct cover gave. He pulled himself into the narrow duct on the ceiling. He moved into it in the direction of the next room away from the creatures by the door. He knew the next room opened into the corridor further down and with some luck he might be able to get to the stairs. He came to another duct opening just like the one he had got in through. He tugged at the cover and moved it away into the duct. Cautiously he peered over the rim and to his relief found the room to be empty. It was a dining room.

He dropped to the floor silently and moved towards the door. He put his ear to it and there was no one on the other side of it. He could hear the door of the room he had just left crash inwards and the creatures get through. He quickly opened the door and scooted down the corridor. He could hear the creatures come after him. He reached the stairs and went up them three at a time. He reached the weapons store. He put his own palm on the bio-scanner and then thrust his co-coordinator’s wristband into the slot for cross-confirmation. The system accepted his entry and the doors opened. He got in and closed the doors in the nick of time. He looked around at the assortment of weapons that lay around him in neat wall brackets and cupboards. He saw the most sophisticated and the most lethal generation-Q plasma guns and the power cartridges. Surely all this was superfluous for a station that was not considered dangerous?

He realized there must have been something he had missed in the introductory course. There was only one way he could escape this place now. And that was to get to the escape pod. The station had one as did any other Z-Grade standard design station.

He unlocked the doors and ran for it. An army of creatures chased him. He fired away his plasma gun and brought down several of the creatures. But their sheer numbers overwhelmed him. They came at him from all sides. Finally he was overpowered and one of them got to him.

It grabbed him by the neck and up close he could see the green fiery eyes with the thin yellow pupils. That was the last thing he saw as the creature viciously twisted his neck and his gun clattered to the floor. Silence followed.

* * *

A few moments later he awoke with a start. He felt cold and clammy. He was drenched in sweat and his breath was rapid and in short bursts. His throat was dry and in reflex reaction he gingerly felt his neck. It was not broken. He was not dead. It was dark. He must have had a nightmare. Saturn Station Z7 was a safe scientific research outpost. He had had a tiring day. He needed a drink.

The luminous dial of the time-piece by his bed told him it was 2 am.

He tried to adjust his vision to the darkness and stumbled out of bed. A pale glow came in through the window and he felt a cold draught. It surprised him. The windows were closed. She always made sure of that each night. He reached for the light switch when his foot caught on something and he almost tripped.

Then he heard the knocking.

- THE END
A short story
(Written: 15-June-2006)