Realism: Flash Fiction

Nobody would believe him but that wouldn’t stop him from proceeding with his plans. It was day 5th and it had been fruitful since. The day he had met her was the day his life changed. People talk about dreams coming true but they don’t speak in a literal manner.

He continued with his painting.

The thing is that he was infatuated towards one of the students in his painting class. He read all the signs perfectly and ended on a date with her. They, after having a great time, went to her place and kissed leaning on her door. He was feeling kind of ecstasy when he slipped on the rain wet road on his way back and hit his head. It was a metal gate of the cemetery or… something like that.

He didn’t mind and got up dusting his clothes. He was alright physically and mentally. He had his coffee and medicines for his head and had a dreamy sleep like always. However, the dream was little unusual. He dreamt about a big old man carrying a large chest with him.

He woke up, made some coffee for himself and sat on the front porch of his house. His parents had left him with a big fortune that enabled him to carry out his passion. He took a sip and recalled their date. A smile emerged on his lips. Then he thought about the weird dream. He started painting the person he saw in the dream. He was checking the painting when someone called his name. And it was none other than the man himself.

Yes, sipping his favourite coffee, he saw a big old man looking exactly like the dream and carrying a chest as well. He could recognize him because he had drawn his likeness on a canvas. Not just that, the old man paused and waved, like he knew him. It was strange because the painter never actually saw that man in real life.

The thing was bizarre and it didn’t stop right there. For next two days, he had visions about strange folks and he drew them. And the next day, he would meet and greet every single one of them, in real life. The first was the old man with a chest, the second with some ropes and third with a sharp edge blade.

He thought that this is all in his head. So, next time when he saw a dream, he tried to forget it and didn’t paint the scene. And that day, nobody…nothing happened. It did occur to him that it’s not about the visions or dreams but his paintings. Whenever he had painted someone from his visions or dream, they had come to life.

That’s why he decided to paint what fueled his desires the most. He was painting that girl he had a date with. It was a beautiful scene in which he was lying on the bed and she was on top of him, making love. A small try if it might come true.

It was never about my dreams so it doesn’t matter if I had dreamt about her or not, he thought. It was his curiosity which fueled his lust and he tried to improvise some.

It was late in the night when somebody knocked on the door. He opened it to find out her, dressing same as the painting, standing in his door. They both looked in each other’s eyes. They couldn’t do it for long. She kissed him, grabbed his hand and took him inside.

They were just a couple of inches from the canvas, when they decided to make the imagination a reality. She was on top of him. She kissed him again and said, “I am so happy!…”

He smiled. She completed her sentenced, “…you completed the ritual. I am free now…we’re free now.”

The painter paused for a little to ask, “What are you saying?”

She responded with a sweet smile, “Oh! You’re so cute. The visions and your paintings were part of a process. We only needed you to get to the last of the vision, somehow.”

“I still don’t understand.” He seemed little worried now.

“Look!” she pointed to the door where all three men from his visions were standing. First: the one with a large chest, Second: the one with ropes and Third: the one with a blade. Soon enough, they had a hold on the painter and she stood beside the bed.

“Let me make you understand, she said. “You were a medium to help us materialize but you stopped in between. The procedure must be completed. So, I said if you won’t paint what you see, I had to make you see what you had painted.” She giggled. But the next moment her face went emotionless. “No more talk. Begin.”

Before he could understand, they tied him with ropes, sliced his tongue and put him in the chest.

Published by Yatharth Singh Chauhan

Self-published Fantasy/Scifi and Historical fiction Author

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