Leaves when they’re home don’t move much, to move they have to sacrifice themselves. However their beauty as they fall is unique.
The train arrived two minutes late in the cold, unforgiving night. The passengers climbed up in a hurry, looking for shelter from the icy wind. Once inside the people in there could barely be recognised as human, they took their belonging seats as if their lives depended on that. Cold eyes from almost every single person looking at each other, some crashed and slept while others were wide awake analysing everyone and everything, looking for a bomb or a gun.
The young artist took her hat off and paranoid as well she gripped her portfolio even closer to her body, her life depended on that. After 6 hours of not moving and not sleeping she arrived at this strange city she would try to call her home.
Once off the train she looked around trying too hard in understanding a language she had never seen before. ‘Only them and their queen speak this language’. She mumbled in between her breaths.
With absolutely nowhere to go with only her portfolio and a one case she saw herself in a city with canals for streets and well dressed people for neighbours. A pungent smell of wrong decisions hit her as a rush of cold wind struck her down and made her hair more messy than it already was.
As tired as she was she couldn’t move more than 5 meters either way without having something to eat. Even with the case and the portfolio weighing her down she managed to walk a couple of blocks into a small crepe and waffle restaurant. The waitress looked up and down her, judging heavily from afar not knowing her story beforehand.
For the artists former known as relevant it was a sign of displease no one should stand, but her hunger made her over look the piercing eyes. She ordered whichever meal she first glanced. She was consuming nothing but sugar and a thin slice of what some people would call bread. Aggressively she devoured what was in front of her and rapidly she exited looking for a place to sleep.
Wandering up the streets while everyone was going down but her uncomfortable especially having to drag her case behind her, while being kicked by her own mind that the weather wasn’t appropriate to walking.
It didn’t took long until she found the hotel one of her friends recommended for her. Unlikely the image she had in her head it was a very big and large place, incredibly clean with some smiling people here and there, politely she smiled back at them while only caring about when she could eat again and when she would be able to get her much deserved sleep.
Getting settled didn’t took long not as long as it took to fall asleep.
Inside her restless head that was pressed against a pillow nothing could save her from her state of awareness. Half an hour she rolled in the bed before finally falling asleep.
Waking the next day she dress herself in quick 15 minutes. Looking at the mirror she couldn’t recognise herself. Her eyes still had the hopeful romantic shine as they always had since the day she was brought into this world, but she couldn’t see it. All she saw was the shell of an artist, or someone who called themselves an artist. Nonetheless she walked out the door not entirely confident but more than the she would be if it were the day before.
After all she had been through it was hard to believe she would settle down in owning a house that sells art instead of making it. Her inner thoughts were contradictions upon contradictions. Being the one who choose the art to exist and be shown into the light while other pieces of work died down and were hidden in the dark.<br><br><a href="/ellowrites" class="user-mention">@ellowrites</a>