The Brush

Do not give voice to your fears. Feel them, understand them, overcome them. But do not give voice to them, or they will grow strong.

It was the first thing I felt - that brush stroke.

And never have I experienced something so new, so peculiar since.

In fact, I can’t remember anything from the time before that brush. Everything before that was just empty. And then suddenly, there was color; albeit very dull color.

That feeling expanded, stroke for stroke. I cannot explain it any other way.

All I knew was that my time was beginning.

Then something changed. I could not only feel anymore. There was something new; less poignant than feeling. It tried to evoke memories in me that I didn’t have. It awakened in me a nostalgia for something I did not know.

I could smell.

It was musky and wet. I could smell the darkness and the burn of a single candle. Or were there two? Something else was burning, too. But not as a flame. It was the sort of fire that hides and then erupts. I couldn’t say why, but somehow, I knew that I was that eruption.

Then there was grief. I could not feel it. Or smell it. It was a sobbing. I heard the sobbing. It overwhelmed me, and I could not escape it. I could evade the musky smell by holding my breath, but sound was different. I had no choice but to listen. The sobbing continued as my hearing improved until I could identify words.

‘Why’, that word seemed to get repeated over and over again.

‘Why, why, why?’

I had no answers.

I did not know why, and I still felt that brush.

Questions started to form in my mind. What was this? Who was I?

My strength was growing.

A flickering light caught my attention. The brush covered it before revealing it again. The quick motions created a makeshift strobe light. The brush stopped, and I heard a creaking of wooden floorboards.

I was able to adjust to the flickering in time to see a man taking a step back as he stood in front of me. Critically, he assessed me. To his right, there was indeed a candle, the source of that light. But there was only one candle, not two. The other burning was indeed not a flame.

I looked at the man. My vision sharpened, allowing me to see the details of his face. His eyes were bloodshot, and tears streamed down his cheeks. The shirt that pulled tight across his chest and belly was wet. One of the suspenders had fallen off his shoulder while the other hung on for dear life. In his left hand was a knife. In his right, he held a brush. The brush!

He stepped forward, and again, I felt the soft strokes of the brush.

I looked down at myself. I had shoulders and arms. I could move them!

I looked behind me to see a canvas. Then I faced the man again.

He stared at me wide-eyed. His hands began to shake. The knife dropped to the ground and stuck in the wooden floorboards. The dull metallic thud reverberated throughout the dark hall we were in. My eyes followed the sound. No, I heard the sound, but now for the first time, I was looking at the room. Large curtains were getting whipped in the wind through the open windows. A thunderstorm filled the night, and rain pelted on the roof. Red and yellow leaves rushed in through the open door and swirled at the feet of the man.

He now stood only inches from me. Our eyes met. Now I saw the second fire. It was in his soul. It burned ruthlessly. At first, it was hate that I felt streaming from him through his brush into my body. But slowly, it had turned to sorrow.

‘For too long,’ the man began to whisper. ‘For too long, I have not heeded your advice. I fought you, ignored you, strangled you! I can do this no longer. I invite you into my life. We are now one.’ Tears poured down his face. I could see he was broken. He raised one arm and placed his hand on my cheek. I waited.

He raised his other arm and leaned in to embrace me. I lifted my arms in reply. A smile crossed his lips as he awaited a warm hug.

‘I will strangle you no longer’, he said in between sobs.

My hands slid up his shoulders and around his neck.

‘But I you’, I spoke as my first words.

My voice was raspy, almost menacing.

His mouth opened in horror as he gasped for air, but life fled him instead.

I let his dead body fall to the floor.

‘I am Fear.’