The last person to stand:
The dungeon was cold and was made with damp rocks, water
flowing through the cracks and dripping on the floor, making sudden ripples of
pools on the ground and the sound reverberating inside the dungeon. George was
walking to and fro, anxious as he was, his hands were clasped behind his back
and his clothes were shaggy and torn.
“Please help me, somebody please help me….”, he cried out to
the dark corners of the dungeons, his voice deeply echoing in the empty tunnel,
giving a grotesque effect to the whole scene. A mobile lay near him, the
battery was drained off and it was switched off, he had made the last call to
his cousin brother Robert telling to help him; he told he was trapped in a
dungeon underneath somewhere in Italy, he was not able to say which one, the
battery had drained and the mobile switched
off. He was sure his cousin would find him, but he was becoming
desperate in the dungeon.
On the far end of the dungeon, there was a portrait on which
was painted the dungeon, the central portion of the portrait was empty with
little shade colouring as if it had to be completed later. George came and took
his painting brush, he was about to do 2 strokes on the portrait, but thought
of something and kept the brush down. He couldn’t draw the portrait, he needed
some help. He needed Robert’s arrival and his escape from the dungeon.
A movement was heard on the other side, George silently
listened to that, he was accustomed to the movements of rats inside the
dungeon, but this sound was not feeble, but steady footsteps.
“Help me”, George cried out. A man in his early twenties
came running towards George. He looked deeply worried by the looks of George
“Robert, you came at last, I thought I would be wasted
here”, George was crying while he hugged Robert, the other man who came in to
the dungeon.
Robert:”How did you get trapped here, were you preparing to
do a portrait, I thought it would take me ages to discover where you are?” he
looked at the portrait on the far end of the room.
George:” Yes, kind of my masterpieces it will be. The one
painting you did in Venice is really praise worthy, many say they are better
than the ones I have done in Florence. It was great indeed to hear that.”
Robert:”It was you who turned me in to a painter. Talents
that can match with you are no longer in this world, am just a mere artist.”
George:” Humbleness is your greatest attribute. I wanted to
give you a present for rescuing me from this dungeon.”
Robert:” What present?”
George took his golden coated brush from inside his robes
and showed Robert. It was the most elegant and magnificent brush that George
used for selected paintings he did for chapels or select personalities. No one
was ever given the brush due to its uniqueness, the fine strokes they provide
and the overall elegance and comfort in using the brush.
George:” Will you accept this my present?”
Robert:”Well, yes, I can definitely use this for the
Assumption of Madonna, Looks from heaven painting am doing. It’s really nice of
you to provide me this.”
George pointed the brush to Robert who gently moved forward
to take the brush; suddenly a knife appeared in the other hand of George which
he plunged in to the neck of Robert. Robert was awe-struck, blood flowing
continuously from the wound, while he clutched his neck in disbelief and fell
to the floor, shivering and asking:”Why?”
George began to laugh, as if he was mad:” It was I who
taught you how to use colours and paints, but you tend to overshadow me. People
say once you complete the Madonna, I won’t be needed by anyone as all will be
following you. I can’t allow this. Twenty years it has been, I got the glory as
the one who came to replace Da Vinci and Botticelli, the one who can make
Michelangelo a run for his money, but you came and you think you can replace me,
the one who created Venus: the beauty of a flower and Hades and Poseidon? This
will be my masterpiece portrait: The last person to stand: Murder in the
dungeon, I will draw this picture of your murder with this brush and will
regain the lost glory I had. I will be the last to stand in the glory of
Italian painters and your name will be forgotten.”
Robert closed his eyes and his breathing stopped, while
George dipped the brush slightly in the blood and mixed it with his paint and
moved forwards to complete his masterpiece portrait.
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