Ahndrian Archives

The timer went off, causing me to jump. “Damn, these nerves of mine,” I spoke to my empty kitchen, grabbing out the hot cup with ease.

My hands were so dry and callused that the feeling they once had was almost all but gone, kind of like my mental state. I could hear my phone vibrate against whatever surface I had tossed it onto last night as the noise echoed throughout the soulless house.

“Not now, Carolyn,” I growled under my breath, pushing my way back towards my studio for one more go.

Feeling a little more alert from my careful sips of java, I noticed how cold the laminate flooring was on my bare feet. Autumn is finally close; I thought, feeling thankful for something. If anything, the beautiful colors from the trees that surrounded my home would bring me some inspiration. Plus, the sun would soon shift, which meant darker mornings. My eyes were more than ready for that.

I continued to sip the warm nectar, switching up my path and deciding to push my way through the living room that I rarely used as intended. Of course, I had all the normal furnishings; a couch, a chair, a table, but this space was more or less used for storage. However, it was carpeted compared to my kitchen and dining room, and my feet were not as worn as my hands.

The moment my freezing toes sunk into the warm shag carpet I slowed my pace. Unable not to, I made a quick glance at all of my unsold paintings that stayed propped up against the wall that led to the only entrance my home offered.

No wonder they weren’t selling; I sarcastically thought as I quickly turned my attention away, continuing on my mission to create something that would.

I had spent most of my useless career focusing on scenic settings fabricated into existence through murky shades of watercolor. The visuals might differ, a meadow here, a mountain there, but none of them gave off any emotion.

I pushed my way into the long hall, debating if I should turn back and gather up the wastes of space. I could destroy them all, easily. Finally, rid me of the burdening feeling the sight of them carried. Maybe I could film it, call it visual art, and see if anyone will pay for that?

It was tempting, but my legs continued to propel me forward until I was standing at the doorway to my useless studio. There, I stood for an even longer amount of time, sipping away staring blankly at the wooden easel that showcased a black hazy backdrop. I tried to think of anything that I could fill it with, but the eureka moment I hoped for never came.

Instead, my phone went off from the side table that held my brushes. “Seriously?” I spat, closing the distance, and snatching up the device.

“What, sis?” I snapped after swiping the screen and putting Carolyn on speaker.

I could hear the annoyance in her voice, “Cas. I just made your house payment.”

“Whatever,” I responded with no emotion, plopping myself down on my stool and tossing the phone on my lap.

“In full, Cas."

“Do they know you spent that much of their money on me?” I countered through a clenched jaw.

“No, but they wouldn’t care.” Her tone sounding more like a whip, “You’re the only one who gives a shit.”

She took a moment to pause, leaving a deafening amount of silence and time, which only fed my self-loathing mind. Money, it might buy happiness for some. For others, like myself, who were born into it, it’s more of a curse we cannot escape from. Even though I have the family name with the trust fund to back it, all I wanted to do was pave my own path to bliss.

“So, you don’t believe in me?” I spoke, more to myself than my twin who I knew could constantly feel my saddened emotions.

“You know that’s not true!” she threw her words into the phone. “Think of it like this, I gave you the freedom to create without pressure. No more stressing about creating to pay bills, just create to create.”

“Right,” I said before swiping the screen, ending the call.

I knew Carolyn meant well, she always did, but she spent her entire life trying to fix mine. I positioned myself, allowing my phone to slide off my lap and onto the floor. Yet, my eyes still remained fixated on the mess ahead. What the hell was I going to paint? What emotion could I leach onto this?

I shot my attention over to the thin closet door beside me. I had shelves upon shelves custom built inside which housed an entire variety of accessories I never dared to use. Dry pigments, charcoal, I had it all, but I only ever used watercolor paints. Maybe that’s my issue? I need texture.

It was a hopeful thought, one that I apprehensively obliged. With caffeine overload in full control, my shaking hand reached out for the handle and my eyes scanned the possibilities I had hidden inside. And then I saw it, the perfect material to use.