Writing Prompt: Sacrifice and Painting

Writing Prompt: Sacrifice and Painting

Aiden fought back the tears that kept trying to bubble to the surface. He knew that everybody would talk about how he couldn’t even hold it together at his mother’s funeral. He was expected to be the man that held the family together now. He was expected to keep his emotions to himself. He was never allowed to show weakness for any reason. Nevermind the fact that the woman who raised him was never going to be around again. 

After what seemed like an eternity, the funeral was over. He waited until every single guest had made it to their vehicles and left. He wasn’t about to hear how he didn’t play the host until the bitter end. His mother would roll in her grave at the thought of it. He kept himself from chuckling thinking of the lecture she would be bound to give him. 

His journey home was pretty uneventful. He lived alone and had nobody to talk to on the way home. He thought of all the things he would say to somebody if they were with him. He would probably talk about his mother. He would talk about her giving nature and her willingness to sacrifice anything if it meant another human being was taken care of. He would tell them stories about her. He would let them know that he was who he was because of her.

Once he got home, he immediately went to the painting he had been working on. He had been stuck on where to go with it for awhile, but tonight he seemed to know exactly where he was going. He decided to take advantage of the inspiration before it left him. Who knew when he would ever get inspired again. 

By the time he was finished with the painting, the sunlight was just beginning to to pour through the windows. He was ravenous with hunger. Before he made his way to the kitchen to eat, he took one last look at the photo. In his opinion, it was one of his best works. It was of a ballerina in a subway. The ballerina and the subway were captured beautifully. Everything looked to be normal. Until you got a closer look. There was a knife in the ballerina’s hand and the wall behind her was covered in blood.

He was shocked. He had never been known for adding anything violent in his paintings. He didn’t even remember adding the touches. He was known to go into a zone when he was painting, but he had never been in one so heavily that he didn’t remember what he was painting at all. Slowly he backed out of the room. He didn’t know what to think of the whole situation. He was terrified and intrigued all at the same time.

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