copying is forbidden

Tuesday, June 11, 2013

A Gray-scale Rainbow [Part Two]

“Brother, what on earth brings you here?” cried the tall girl as she answered the door.
                “Is that what you’re supposed to say after seeing your brother after three years we did not met?” he asked tiredly.
                “So you do remember.” Said she sarcastically.
                Irked by her tone, he pushed her away from his face. “Where’s mother?”
                “She’s waiting for you inside.” She said with sigh and left him at the door.
                He looked at his sister figure long before proceeding to the family room. As he passed the many rooms and doors of the house, he realized that this house was quite big. He chuckled painfully. If he thought of that then what will be his mother felt living in this house with only his sister. It was three years ago, since he last came to this house. It was when his father unexpectedly died in an accident.
                “Izzy, you came…” said his mother with a meaningful smile as she rose from her seating.
                “Mother…” he approached her with an overwhelming relive surge in his body. He took her hand and kissed it. The hand was wrinkled all over. Deprived from its former strength that once can spank him quite hard. She has aged. How can he do not realized it sooner… He pulled his mother into a long hug. Suddenly he cried. He did not know why. The tears suddenly fall from his eyes. His mother gingerly raised her arms and returned the hug.
Deep in her heart, she knew he had it hard. The bombarding pressure he received from the company, his works and also from her husband. All who had high expectation for him. The sudden death of her husband must be a great blow to him. The strong world that still backs him up despite the pressure suddenly collapses leaving him all the responsibilities that he had been running away from. She sighed and hugged him tighter. Even after all the growing up he done, he still the same scared little child deep down inside.
                “So mother… Why did you call me here?” he asked awkwardly. He felt strange sitting across her after all those years.
                “I just want to see my only son. Is that so wrong dear?” she asked teasingly.
                He fidgeted in his seat, hearing her answer. She knew he must have felt restless after showing his weaknesses in front of her. He was very prideful.  Even though she was his mother, he still put a wall against her. He cannot accept the idea of people knowing his insecurities.
                “You’re still the same after all those years…” she said under her breath. “I was just joking. Here,” she issued him a small piece of paper, “find sometimes to go to this place.  He was your father’s friend. He might be able to help you.”
                He read the name, Dr. Youssef Smith, and the address. He looked back at his smiling mother with questioning eyes.
                “You will know when you meet him.”

                After having dinner together and spent the rest of his weekend at his mother’s house, he came back to the busy world he lived in. he finished some paperwork and took a three days’ vacation. Then, he when back home to pack his things before setting out to the far away destination. 
                The silver sport car stopped at the end of the cliff. Its owner heaved a deep sigh. The billowing winds stroke his handsome face and raked his dark brown hair. His light emerald eyes scanned the areas around him before continuing his journey to the looming mansion at the end of the paved road.
                The mansion was enormous. However, it looked like it has been awhile since it last received a visitor. He drove and parked his car in the open space between the rows of classic cars parked outside the mansion. As he climbed out from his car, he kept checking the address in his hand. At long last, he stood in front of the big oak doors. The doors were beautiful, said his inner artistic self. The chiseled patterns were flawless and breath-taking. His fingers gingerly stroke the chiseled patterns. Then he pulled the rope beside the door. A loud chime can be heard throughout the mansion. Unaware of a flock of bats that flew from somewhere within the mansion, the man waited.
                The big oak door opened revealing the butler of the mansion. The man smiled. The butler looked exactly like how common thought might imagine. With droopy eyes and half bald head. The upturned mouth opened as he said “Yes. What may I help you with?”
                “Is this Dr. Youssef’s house?” he asked.
                “And you are?” questioned the butler without answering the question.
                “My name is Izz ad-Din Walt. I believed Dr. Youssef was expecting me.” Smiled the man.
                “Yes, he is, sir. Now, if you could kindly follow me sir.” Gestured the butler for the man to follow him.
                As he walked inside, he could not fail to notice the various masterpieces filling the place up. Van Gogh’s, Picasso’s, Monet’s, DalĂ­’s and Munch’s “The Sick Child”. However he also noticed the unfamiliar arts that also plastered on the wall. They took a turn in the great hall before entering the huge sitting room. A man in his late fifties was sitting at the center of the room. When he saw his visitor, he rose up and bellowed friendly greetings.
                “Izzy, how time has passed since we last met.” Said he as they took their seat.
                “Have we ever met sir?” asked the man.
                “Don’t you remember me, Uncle Youssef?” He bellowed. Then with realization he added “Owh, you were five when we last met.” He looked at him with a fatherly look. “You sure grew up well. Saif must have been proud of you.”
                He could not ignore the past tense in the sentence. He found it quite funny. It has been three years…
                “So, your mother called me the other day, saying that you need some help with your work. I don’t know what she said to you but you can stay here as long as you wish.” He said to his solemn visitor.
                “Thank you sir…” he answered when again the man bellowed “No, it is Uncle Youssef to you.” Again, he answered bashfully “Yes, Uncle Youssef.”
                The old man chuckled hearing the man tone. “When I look back at you, you really do resemble your father a lot. Except your eyes. That has to be your mother’s. Saif’s were grey.” Said the man. “Well, you better change your clothes. It must have been a long ride from your place to here.” With that he called the butler to show the man the room he will be staying at.
                “Owh, sir… I mean, Uncle Youssef, who painted those paintings?” he asked as he was about to leave the room.

                The old man looked at the paintings and smiled. “That’s Aaron’s works, my son.”
the second part... it's a bit art congested...

Thursday, June 6, 2013

A Gray-scale Rainbow [Part One]

               The night warped the world with it pitch black blanket. The storm raided the world with its thunder. As if it wished the world to be conscious of its presence. Once or twice, the lightning stroked. Its light enlightened the coast for a moment or two, giving the pitch black night an eerie aura.
                Up, far on the cliff stand a mansion so elegantly seated yet so frighteningly stood. The tens of its windows, not one could be seen lighted. As if not one living thing occupy it residency. However, up in the highest room of the house, with the light came from the lighting outside, a small figure could be seen sitting in front of a gigantic frame of canvas. Its tiny hand held a brush gingerly while danced it on the wide white canvas. Not once it ever stops for the light to enlighten the room.

                The quiet floor was shaken for a moments. It was a high scale neighborhood that not many could afford to stake a residency there.  If one manages to live there, one will be so proud that not enough earth could ever support him. Yet he seemed oblivious of it all.
                He strove in as if it was nothing. The hundreds euros priced shoes laid on the floor where its owner had flung it when he entered the house. As he walked, his feet sunk in the thick velvet that carpeted the whole floor. Then he violently threw himself on the custom made sofa that was designed especially for him. As he lay there, he reached for the controller. He pushed the button making the billowing curtain to pull back and revealing the majestic view of God’s creation.
                He smiled watching the night view. Its pitch blackness created a beckoning feeling on its viewer. The stroke of lightning that sometimes teased its calmness brought a refreshing yet somehow heart grasping feel. He purposely bought this condominium for these reasons only. The full windowed wall allowed him to watched the works of the most talented and capable artist of all.
                However, the smile did not last long. After a moment he let a huge sigh slammed his head back on the soft surface of the sofa. He covered his eyes with his hand weakly. He was tired. Tired of it all. None of the expensive things that he owned brought any meaning to him anymore. He felt no serenity in any of it. He opened his eyes and watched yet again the dancing stroke of lightning, hoping it will enlighten his heart as it enlightened the world.
                That was when he saw the cordless telephone laying motionlessly on the coffee table as if urging him to make the long awaited call. Slowly he reached for the phone and dialed the numbers that he never forget but almost never dialed it. He waited anxiously as he heard the beeping sound. To afraid that it will be answered but yet to impatient for it too.
                “Hello?” the soft voice whispered to his ear, shaking all parts of his body to sense.
                “Hi mother. It’s me… Izzy…” he said meekly. Ashamed of himself.
                “Izzy?” sound of astonishment can be heard distinctly and clearly in her voice. “Oh, Izzy. Peace be upon you my son.”
                “Peace be upon you too, mother.” Said he bashfully.
                His mom chuckled in hearing his tone. “What brings you to call me, dearest?” she said teasingly.
                “Mother.” He grumbled. “Never mind. Mother, sorry for not calling you in a long time. I admit I was wrong.” Silenced. He heard a faint sniff at other end of the line. He gulped before continuing his words. “Mother? Please don’t cry. I was wrong and I felt now its consequences.”
                “What’s wrong Izzy? Are you sick or something?” she said fretfully.
                “It’s not that. It’s just that… I felt myself at a loss. I no longer have any control or any knowledge of what am I doing right now.”  He cried. Truly he missed his mother loving and comforting arms.
                He heard a faint chuckling. “Izzy my son. What is it dear, that are troubling my big boy? Tell me. Let me ease your heart as far as I can.” She said soothingly.
                “Mother, do you remember Avan Garde? My art gallery.”
                “Yes, I remember it quite clearly.”
                “Well hear this mother. I no longer felt any passion for it. The oil paints and pastel, acrylics and crayons bear no longer any meaning to me. Even a pure white canvas and a block of granite give no inspiration to me. I am at my ends meet.” He rambled.
                “Izzy dear. Do you remember why you first opened the gallery?” she asked. Without waiting for his answer, she continued, “You told me that you wish to show the world the majestic creations of our Lord. Now tell me my dearest, where did your beautiful aim go?”
                Like being struck by a lightning bolt, the man was stunned to silence.  He laughed silently to himself. Yes, how silly of him to lose sight of his goal in his constant and never ending persuasion.
                “Izzy?? Are you still with me?” said his mother softly.
                “Yes, mother. I’m still here.” He said weakly like a child seeking his mother protection and comfort.
                She laughed lightly. Her beautiful voice rings a song in his ears. He smiled, finally. “Dear, why don’t you come by this weekend? You can, can’t you? You’re your own boss.”
                “Hurm… I’ll try. May be I can cancel some of my former plan.” He answered bashfully. She knew, he thought, that I did not fail to call her because I was busy but because I made myself busy. His pearl-like skin turned to a shade of pink due to his embarrassment.
                “That’s my boy.” Said his mother cheerfully.
                “Mother…” grumbled him.
                “Sorry, it just that I miss to tease you likes this…” tint of sadness can be heard in her voice. With that, a pang gripped his heart. “See you this coming weekend then.”
                After hanging up, he slumped back on the sofa. Heaving a heavy sigh, he smiled sadly.

To be continued...

***Sorry, it has been a while since I last post my stories. They were collecting cobwebs in my files. Been busy with things and what-not... Insha-Allah will try to upload much often after this...