View Full Version : A single line

November 12th, 2010, 04:45 AM
Staring at the painting he wonders if there is any meaning. The blackened canvas holds a single line of light that barely arches across the frame. Beginning around the middle of the frame the line creeps out from the black background to a brilliant white division in the darkness. Then it fades back into gray. Then back into darkness. The arch is uneven. Ending lower than it begins. At the end of the line a small curve bends toward the top before falling off of the canvas. Almost as if the artist had changed their mind near the end.

The surface of the painting gives the impression of a storm at sea. The paint lifts and crashes across the canvas. As the tips rise off of the surface the color fades before drying and crumbling away. All the spaces in between fall smooth and deny reflection. All of the spaces hold only darkness. All except the arch of light. There the canvas reflects every ray of light it has every seen.

He sees the initials in the lower left corner of the painting. A large A followed by two small lines capped by another arch. Maybe an n or broken h followed. Maybe there was no letter at all. Only the crashing tides of black rising to the lifeless air above them, leaving behind only an impression. Whatever it was or was supposed to be, in his mind, he saw pi.

He thought about pi. How the numbers seem to go on forever without repeating. How hundreds, maybe even thousands of numerologist and mathematicians dedicated years of their life chasing the numbers that never end. Finding all of the places the numbers fit to make sense of their lives while never making sense of their own amaranthine existence. He wandered how they would react when they had found their answer only to find out it was the end of the journey. He wandered what they would do with the rest of their lives once the numbers became monotonous.

She came from the room. Her color was faded at the edges like the lifted waves of the painting. Colored flowed only in the streaks down her face and her morose eyes followed them down.

Shes gone she choked out before crumbling down into his chest. He folded his arms around her as she cried. She cried so hard he could hear her fighting for every breath. Breath that seemed to hide in the spaces between as if they never wanted to be found again. He could feel her hollow pain tearing apart at the emptiness of the air around them. Air she no longer wanted to breathe.

Outside he felt her cradled head on his shoulders. He felt her tears falling on his neck. He felt her breathing. Inside he felt nothing. Inside he was numb. Dark with no lifted edges. Black with no division.

He looked at the painting and wondered if there was meaning.