i kissed him

Rina Zante

Feet shuffled into Michalis Gallery, the workshop where we art students created pieces.

Once everyone settled in, the professor dished out his instructions yet again. We were to paint using any medium, and make use of any style we'd learnt so far. Surrealism was my choice.

I guessed what they said was true. That passion was a driving force. It made you keep going even when the zeal was lost. My love for painting and the desire to teach it were the reason I was here despite all that'd happened. And in spite of the fact I'd be rudely reminded of the worst day of my life because of a particular face.

I didn't wrestle for a spot like everyone did. No energy for that; I dreaded people now. As luck may have it, there was an unoccupied space facing the corridor at the far end of the gallery. And even more awesomely, it was secluded.

The dots connected quickly. No one took it because Professor Carlo, the no-nonsense patriarch, had his seat close.

I got to the spot and laid out