The Artist (A Preview)

I came here to work on my landscape portfolio, but I can't peel my eyes away from the beautiful face that's only 10 metres away. He's the most beautiful human being that I've ever laid eyes on.  Before I can truly process what I'm doing, I'm sketching his profile. His dark hair is wavy and tousled; warm caramel bands loop through the deep mahogany tones, catching rays of the mid-afternoon sun. He has small little black earrings with small splashes of green in them. He glances in my direction and I'm able to properly see what he looks like. He's baby-faced with almond-shaped hazel-amber eyes that are alive with some sort of mischief.  Small freckles kiss his cheeks. He returns to his book and giggles at the text. I need to peel my eyes away before he realises I'm staring at him.

As soon as I peeled my eyes away from him, I realised that the entire time I'd been looking at him, I hadn't been breathing. 'Why haven't I seen him before?' I ask myself as I muse over his delicate features as I work a new layer of texture into his hair.  I have to fight the urge to get up and see the texture up close for myself. The oil pastels hardly do justice to him, but the image in front of me is a wondrous display of beauty. He turns his head slightly to the left and I notice a pastel coloured tattoo on his neck. It appears to be a cluster of flowers of some sort. Cherry blossoms or flowers from strawberry plants. The work is so detailed and intricate; It resembles a painting more than it does a tattoo. It's a wonderful contrast to his solid black ensemble and his creamy light beige skin. Sunkissed I'd call it. 

....

By the end of the week, my portfolio case is filled with sketches and paintings of him. I know I should be working on my landscapes but several of them remain pitifully unfinished as I attempt to capture the mysterious boy again. He's sitting under the same tree that he has all week, the same ripped jeans but another book. I've never seen anyone read as much as him. In my younger days, I used to devour books but as the depression began to fog my mind my lust for reading slowed. It was hard to concentrate on the story.

I pull out my charcoals and begin to finish a sketch of him that I had started the previous day. I add lowlights to his hair and carefully shade his face, capturing the shadows of the branches that had adorned him. Today he's wearing a beanie. It makes him look like a teenager, but the dark shadows under his eyes show that he's a young adult running on caffeine and little sleep. He sets the book to the side and leans back against the tree. "I wish you were leaning against me." I whisper to the air, closing my eyes. The smell of honeysuckle has bloomed around me and the softness of the grass caresses my bare feet and ankles. 

......

"That's a great likeness." says a voice behind me. I open my eyes and see that he's vanished from the spot he was sitting in. My heart cracks. I develop tunnel vision and feel and an overwhelming sense of vertigo. I sway to the side and begin to fall backwards only to have him catch me. "Did I startle you?" he asks and I notice just how soft his voice is. It's a smooth tenor tone, with a hit of childish air to it. I shake my head 'no', unable to get a word out. He settles himself behind me wrapping his long legs around mine. "We match." He says, his voice thick with amusement. "What?" He gestures to the ripped black skinny jeans that we're both wearing. He loops one of his long, yet chubby fingers through the strips in my jeans. His fingers leaves a white-hot trail in their wake. "Oh." I blush warmly, hoping he doesn't feel my temperature rising as he has his chest pressed into my back. I feel him draw in breath to say something, but he changes his mind.

"I really like your drawings. Are there more of me?" He says after a few minutes of silence. I feel my voice caught in my chest. I know that I have to say something before he thinks I'm a mute. "Yes. Would you like to see?" I'm hesitant to show him; I don't want him to think that I'm some sort of stalker. "Very much so." His smooth tone is curious, but I hear a hesitation in his voice. "I...I'm sorry if the artwork upsets you." I open the portfolio book and images of him in several different mediums fall across my lap.  He wraps his arms around me and traces little triangles in the exposed skin of my thighs with a free hand as he looks through the drawings and sketches. He draws breath in quickly and suddenly stiffens behind me. "You've captured my good side all but three times." His tone is playful. "I don't think you have a bad side." "No?" I shake my head. 

"I'd like to know more about your work, your inspiration behind a few of the more complex pieces." "What would you like to know?" "Why me? There are so many beautiful people that make their way through this park every day, hundreds of them, yet you chose to focus on me. What makes me so special?" I'm not expecting his question and I'm not sure how to answer it.  I can only go with the simplest answer. "You were the only one that caught my eye." He turns me toward him and looks at me. "You were the only one that caught my eye." I repeat, letting it sink into him. "I don't know what you want to know but that-" He presses his lips to mine.


If you'd like to see more of these types of literature previews or shorts let me know! I might do a few more like this, might not. I've got so many things upcoming and going on so if I don't reply back within a few days, re-send your message! Thanks!

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