The Art No One Saw | Short Story

Sitting here on this vacant beach, I watch intently as the troubled waters vigorously throw a tantrum against the innocent rocks. Every wave more violent than the last, causing the cliff face to frown, with tiny pieces of rock breaking off and falling with such sheer force into the ocean below, leaving behind a ripple, like tears moving quickly down from a person’s eyes, to the floor.

Only the stale stench of loneliness surrounds me and manages to reach my unsuspecting nose. I inhale the devastation, letting out only my deepest anxieties, and allowing for a sudden surge of electricity in the form of a chest stabbing chill to take control. My entire body victim to the cold prison we call air.

My heart beats out of time with the lyrical and harmonious whistling of the wind, whilst my breathing becomes more of a laborious task, as if my chest were being crushed, bearing a weight that couldn’t be moved or lifted by one person alone.

I avert my eyes to the sky above, seeming much calmer in looks, but holding back and array of dark and unknown secrets yet to be revealed. I see it for what it is, a never ending blanket of over protection. It’s caring in nature, but also smothering the world with its love, constantly keeping a close watch of what we are doing, not allowing for even a fraction of a second of privacy. Too afraid of what could happen, not knowing the damage has already been done.

The horrifyingly dull clouds form around me, like aggravated bullies in the school grounds waiting to prey on the weak and undeserving, without even a care for those who are about suffer.

The first drop falls on the ground like acid on a piece of metal, plunging and ripping into the sand I sit on, pulling the softened and damp grains apart from one another with ease. One drop leads to two, which leads to a downpour, a release of emotion from above.

Rain drops dance slowly down the contours of my face, not missing a single detail, like an artist working on their truest and most loved masterpiece, but the art is not me. The art I care about is this, a place where looks can be deceiving, the lifeless and misjudged piece of land I call my home.

Chloe Lauren x

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18 thoughts on “The Art No One Saw | Short Story

  1. Hollis Thundercroft says:

    Your word craft in this is spot-on; I think my favorite part was “Only the stale stench of loneliness,” which I loved, probably because I took try to associate emotions with other senses. This is a really good short story and you’re an amazing writer!

    Liked by 1 person

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