The Art of the End, Chapter 1: Modern

         Amongst the barely audible chattering and faces of those oblivious to any real concerns, the girl brazenly slid a handful of items from the pharmacy shelf into her jacket pocket. With a lazy gaze over her left shoulder, she crisscrossed through the aisles and towards the doors. As the girl was leaving her stride remained comfortable and her expression level. This was not wrong, she convinced herself. It was for mere survival. Stray thoughts of attempting something on a grand scale briefly consumed her. Her mind pushed them back, knowing there were other ways to get by without unearthing trouble. Her old addictions were left to the past. The exit door slid open almost invitingly, and a faint smile spread across her face.

         Behind her trailed the blonde, green-eyed girl who had crossed gazes with this mysterious stranger before. Awash with building curiosity she continued to follow at a distance. As the stranger began to fade down the street, she whisked up her pace.

         The girl ahead was perfectly aware of her stalker by this point, though not quite sure how to receive this newfound interest in her. Digging her knuckles deep into her pockets, she lowered her head to let her bright red curls mask her face. Each step hastened as she abruptly decided to dip off into the woods.

         In this remote, old fashioned town everybody knew one another. Except for this stranger, as she seemingly came and went as a ghost. Not even the police took notice of this girl who should have been at the local high school, not roaming the streets. Judging from the innocent face of the young woman trailing her, she was increasingly tempted to stop and talk to her. However, when it came to explaining herself it was like shooting blank bullets. She had completely no idea of what she could tell her. For as long as she could remember, which remarkably wasn’t long, she had not one friend. It could be nice, she thought. Despite whatever may have crossed her mind, her feet kept moving ever faster towards the woods.

         As the blonde's bright eyes followed the stranger towards the banks of the woodland she was nearly discouraged. “That poor thing,” she thought whilst decisively pressing forward, “She can’t possibly live in the woods? During this heat wave?” She began to run. If there was one reason she was put on this Earth, she’d always considered it to be a healer of sorts.

         The stranger glanced backwards as she was stepping onto the trail well worn by her feet. “Why is she running?” she wondered with her hazel eyes grown large and lips slightly apart. “Where can I go?” The girl knew there was a possibility the blonde one could call the police if she knew where she lived. “That girl doesn’t look like she works at the pharmacy. Then why is she after me!”

         Momentarily the stranger stopped in her tracks, feeling much like a deer frozen in front of a pair of headlights. She could not go home as she considered it, because she did not belong there. Simply hiding within the woods themselves could lead to something incredibly more menacing; given the assumption this girl would tell others, even casually. Eventfully the police could pick her up. She had not done anything wrong that she was aware of, aside from the obvious yet trivial thefts. If she were forced to reveal the fact that she was truly unaware of her identity, the results could be terrifying. There must not be jovial experiences hidden there, nor did she wish to recover such a past. She was certain of that if nothing else.

         “Hi, please don’t hide from me!” the blonde called sounding as if she was talking to a skittish squirrel. “I’ve seen you before!” She slowed to a normal pace upon noticing the other girl was remaining in place.

         Slowly the stranger turned to face her stalker, but hardly moved or spoke a word. She drew her moist hands from her pockets and nervously kicked about a pebble on the path, just hard enough to momentarily flatten the misplaced flowers in the unkempt dirt. Her eyes drifted down to watch them pop up, and then shyly back to the approaching girl's face.

         The blonde continued to approach until they were standing face to face. “My name’s Samantha,” she said in excessively friendly tone, “We don’t see people like you here often, and don’t misunderstand me, that’s a good thing. I keep seeing you places.” She shifted her weight and rested a palm against her jean pocket before continuing. “I hate to sound self-righteous or anything, but when I saw you shoplifting I became a little worried about you.”

         The stranger brushed the curls framing her face behind her ear and returned her hands to her jacket pocket. An artistic screen-printing of a creepy little girl centered on the jacket caught Samantha’s attention during the silence. “Why are you worried about me?” the girl finally managed to reply after a few moments of thought.

         Samantha had not fully considered her comment before hastily putting it out there. How could she tell this girl directly to her face that she had been worried that she was homeless? Suddenly she was lost for words, not wanting to offend.

         The redhead laughed with relief when she decided Samantha wasn’t a threat to her. Despite the disconnection from society she felt, there was just something about this girl. “You can say it. What? Did you think I was poor? Homeless?” she prodded as she tilted her head giving into a faint smile.

         “I don’t want to upset you,” Samantha blushed as she paused, and fiddling with her hands she continued, “It’s just that every time I see you, you’re alone and either stealing or counting on your looks to land you a free drink or food, like when I noticed you at the café. You just look,” she paused and pressed her lips, raising her eyes to meet those of the redhead, “you look sad, that’s all.” She laughed and gently pointed out, “You’re always wearing those clothes, except for the jacket.” She motioned with her arm and teetered lightheartedly on her feet.

         “You know, I didn’t know what to expect when I saw somebody running towards me. It’s fine, though, I don’t mind. I suppose it’s nice that someone is actually concerned about me.”

         “What’s your name?”

         “I,” the redhead started, suddenly struggling to come up with an answer, but knowing you must be quick in response. “Well, typically I go by Ellie.” She mentally released the pressure put upon her, feeling lucky that a name had come to her so quickly. She had not been left stammering in the way she had dreaded when asked such a question.

         Samantha studied Ellie’s pale, freckled face and saw the anxiety beneath her apparently normal expression. She watched as the anxiety washed away to a certain point; it still remained within the glimmer of her eyes. “Aw, I love that name,” she said with a smile, “I hate my name actually, I’d rather be called Sammie. Problem is, nobody seems to want to call me by it.”

         Ellie studied Sammie's face for a split second before deciding that she would be angry toward herself for walking away. She had no clue about the sorts of people who had been in her life before, but she could sense that they were not as good as Sammie seemed. Standing in front of her, Ellie picked up on a comforting vibe emitting from her. “I’m not homeless, all I am is a starving artist. You know, all my money is spent on supplies and such,” she lied, though expanding on the truth. She was an artist, though no money came of it. Supplies were obtained in the same manor as the items from the pharmacy.

         “Oh,” Sammie giggled in embarrassment, “that’s awesome. I love art. I’m just not any good at it myself.”

         “What are you doing?” Ellie asked, proud of the fact she had overcome her dread of outside contact.

         “Now? Nothing really, why?”

         “I don’t know. I’ve been around here for quite a while, and I seriously doubt that I’ve ever said a word to anyone. That’s sad, isn’t it?”

         “No, I understand,” Sammie pressed. “It is sort of tightly knit in these parts. It’s almost as if some stranger waltzes in, and the people act afraid of them. I know most people likely haven’t approached you.” She stepped up close to her to bridge the gap, which felt more emotional rather than physical.

         “Heh,” Ellie muttered in response. “I liked that. But eh, like I said, it’s nice that at least somebody wonders about my situation. Since you’re not doing anything, you could walk home with me?” She stopped, considering whether or not she was right to be so brave as to invite someone into her reclusive life. A lonely existance was something she could no longer survive, she concluded. She then gently nudged Sammie in a playful manor, “I’m not homeless.”

         With a quick reply and a nod, the two continued down the path deeper into the woods. While it remained daylight, shrouded by the cover of bushy leaves above, it became substantially dimmer as they went. The two young women conversed in idle chitchat along the long way. For the most part Ellie was always unsure of what to say to people when and if ever asked, however the answers materialized quickly when talking to Sammie. Inside Ellie was gleaming with such happiness that had long avoided her. The thought she may find someone to at least somewhat confide in never occurred to her.

         They crossed over from the dirt path onto a gravel road that slanted dramatically downwards. Their shoes ground into the stones for traction each time one of them began to slip. Sammie asked if this was a shortcut as the road began to wind, and Ellie informed her that it was not. A certain look appeared on Sammie's face. She had been right in assuming that Ellie lived in the woods, only not quite the way she imagined. Including Ellie’s initial behavior and her home, it occurred to her that this strange girl could possibly be in hiding.

         A small doe leered at them before rushing off. The two had been walking for quite a time; it must have been over an hour. Sounds of many more woodland animals came to Sammie’s ears almost as a surprise. She snuck a peek at the other girl, beginning to wonder how somebody lived in such a remote location. "Is it even legal to build houses down here?" she continued to wonder, glancing about the bushy and dark surroundings. Walking down this road alone was a task she would never look foward to doing. "Ellie must be brave," she mused, thoughts of maniacs running through her head. She thought of the last summer when a missing college student's body was found on the far side of these same woods. Local kids quit using them as a hangout when it was fresh in their minds, although this place was beginning to feel safer as time went on. Still, Sammie made a mental note that if she was to ever see Ellie again it would be in town.

         The pair walked the final curve on the gravel road and into the sight of a large building made from wood slabs covered with chipping red paint. It was crude in nature, and from the looks of the place it was substantially old. It looked more like a rather large shack than a home. Far past its prime, a ground level pool along the home's side was flooded with green, mossy water. The basketball goal was missing it's hoop; swings hung carelessly by only one chain apiece. The lone thing of beauty on the property was the creek to the right.

         “You live here?” Sammie inquired, attempting to hide her amazement.

         “Of course I do,” Ellie replied, attempting to hide her offense. She picked up the other girl’s thoughts and swiftly explained what first came to mind, “Growing up this was my father’s cabin. He came out here to hunt and, you know, that sort of nature stuff. It isn’t much; there's no plumbing or electircity.” That much was a lie except for the last part, but she continued with the truth, “Looking out these windows I see much more of an inspiration from an artistic standpoint.” It seemed to be enough to make Ellie feel at ease, though she told herself not to assume everyone would be suspicious. After all, nobody would know she did not belong there except the true owners who had long left the place to rot.

         Ellie struggled a bit with the misshaped door as they entered. The only pieces of furniture were a withered couch, and a pool table if you could call it furniture. It seemed to be used as a coffee table. Aside from those two objects the rest of the one-roomed house was littered with canvases and scattered art supplies. From the outdoors there looked to be another room located on a second floor, but clearly it was not assessable from inside.

         Ellie emptied the stolen contents of her pockets on top of the table. Sammie caught a quick look at them, nothing more than some kind of ointment and bandages.

         “Are you hurt?” Sammie asked with a genuine concern. She shifted her eyes towards the medical items on the table next to her, and then towards the other girl who had not yet answered.

         Ellie froze within her own thoughts, for she was not ready to explain what was happening to her. “I’m sensitive,” she finally muttered. After a nervous laugh she added, “Klutz, you know.”

         In reality these injuries happened while she was asleep. Never a night went by that she did not dream of the past. Not her past per say, just the past itself. Her dreams were always lucid and as real to her as any waking moment. There were memories and personal thoughts not visualized, but purely known. Some came to her clearer than her real memories, though Ellie’s memories were limited to the past seven months. Each night it happened, it was like waking to a whole other life and experiencing it for the duration of the night. Often she was a recurring character, but there was more than one life she dreamt of. In the mornings she awoke to assorted cuts and bruises. As odd as it was, certain nights she would encounter sinister events including her own death, and the next day would find marks on her body corresponding to where she had been injured. In fact she had been prompted to head to the pharmacy that day due to awaking with blood covered arms. For the first time she had not come to consciousness the next morning being aware of the previous night’s dream.

         The season was beginning to change and becoming too hot for sweaters, but she chose to wear hers to cover the marks in public. She felt the humidity within the home seeping into her skin from beneath the fleece and wished she could remove her cover. “No more questions,” she told herself as she followed Sammie towards the paintings and thinking, “I only have to deal with it as long as she’s here.”

         Sammie eyed the canvas resting in the easel in a state of early progress. She knelt in front of it to take a closer look at the still dark picture. The under painting had recently been finished, and the image remained vague and relatively simple. She carefully pointed to the focus of the painting, which looked roughly like a charm bracelet. “Obviously I can tell you’ve just started this one,” she mused, “but it’s already an engaging piece. It’s a chain bracelet, right?” Her finger hovered towards one large charm that looked like nothing she had ever seen. It was a bright white hue and appeared to be some kind of creature. There were a few features remenisant of a human, yet looked to be some fusion with an unearthly being. With only one eye and an undefined shape, it spooked her.

         “Yeah, I’m glad you can actually tell. I’ve only spent an hour on this one right before I left for the store,” Ellie replied with a smile, kneeling down next to her new friend. “Be careful, it’s still a little wet. You wouldn’t ruin it, but it could smudge.”

         Sammie withdrew her finger and continued, “Sorry. So, what’s that charm at the bottom? I’ve never seen anything like it.”

         “A spirit,” she gleamed. “It’s still new. Although, that much is about all there is to it. It’s a simple image, but unique enough too, as you pointed out, not look like anything most people have seen.”

         They both rose and moved across the room. Ellie fingered through a vertical stack of finished paintings, pulling out a small piece of canvas. She held it out to Sammie. “Take this,” she blissfully offered, glad she was no longer the lone person to view her art. The eyes of another brought to life what she had labored on for so long. Reluctance crept on the other girl’s face. “Don’t worry, I won’t miss it,” Ellie softly urged.

         Sammie finally accepted it and turned the canvas to face her. “Wow,” she smiled, “I love it.” The face of a little Indian girl stared back at her, pain and beauty coexisting together. The eyes struck her immediately, and the thought crossed her mind that they were more real than any other painting she had seen. "What is the dot off to the side of her face?" she inquired, pointing it out to Ellie, and thinking it could have been a mistake. "Perhaps that is why she's giving this one to me," she considered.

         After taking a moment she finally explained, "That is her third eye; In India most people have them. I'm sure you've seen one. Normally they are on the forhead, but I painted it there to symbolize one's absence of such insight."

          Samantha looked as if she was not sure what the painting's "third eye" was meant to symbolize, though she did not question Ellie. Instead she asked, “Did somebody pose for this?”

         “Well, not really,” Ellie responded shortly, glancing towards the window suddenly aware of the time. “You’d better go soon, the sun’s about to go down.”

         “Oh.” She glanced at her wrist, “It’s already seven! Okay, well here.” She fumbled around in her purse and brought out a notepad and pen. “Is there a phone here?”

         “No,” Ellie laughed, “There isn’t even electricity here, remember?”

         “Then, I’ll give you my address. Next time, come to my house.” Sammie giggled, “I have electricity, in case you start to miss it out here. You said you don’t know anyone in town except me, so you can meet some people there. Actually there’s this guy, Ben, who’s an artist too. I don’t know him very well, though, but my sister does.” She handed the paper to Ellie and pretended to nudge her with a wink, “Her ex-boyfriend, if you get me.”

         “Good, I guess,” she replied, smiling faintly and suddenly feeling almost as shy as earlier. “I’m staying here for a few days to work. I’ll walk into town when I run out of food.”

         It seemed a little strange to her, but Sammie nodded. Feeling quite afraid, she turned to the door. "Are there," she stammered, looking back at Ellie, "any animals that may hurt me?"

         "Don't worry! I do it many times. The worst animals out there are deers," Ellie assured the other girl, "and when was the last time you heard of a deer hurting anybody?" She laughed, simply to put her friend at ease.

         After her friend had left the house, Ellie went to the cooler she kept under the pool table and pulled out a bottle. She fell onto the couch keeping her eyes trained on the unfinished painting. Gazing at it, she tried her best to remember precisely the way she had seen it in her mind the day before. It was hours spent solely staring at the canvas and slowly sipping the wine, until she drifting into sleep.

Next ---> "The Art of the End, Chapter 2: Dream"