Interrupted Reading Painting Novels & Stories

Against the old white paint, a wrapped frame waited. “What’s that?” Raven asked, a hint of annoyance there. “Open it up and see.” I folded my arms and leaned in the doorway as she pulled the paper off the canvas. Karen had texted me while we were out, letting me know the painting had finally arrived. For some reason, Lanie had gotten hers two days earlier, but I couldn’t complain. As Raven realized what she’d received and turned to me with a glowing face, the wait became worth it. “Are you serious?” she asked.

Her eyes widened, taking in the breathtaking painting before her. Her breath caught in her throat as she studied the vibrant colors and masterful brushstrokes. The painting depicted a serene garden, filled with blooming flowers and dappled sunlight. The brushwork was gentle yet confident, capturing the essence of nature's beauty. "Raymond, this... it's incredible," Amelia murmured, her voice laced with awe. "Did you... paint this?" Raymond nodded, a mix of pride and vulnerability in his eyes. "Yes, Amelia. I painted it for you. It's my way of expressing the depth of our friendship, the beauty I see in you."

I tried pulling it didn't budge either. Was this the wrong painting? Seconds stretched. Every sound felt louder, I pulled out my tools again and scanned the painting in comparison to others it looked hollow too hollow. I pushed a screw driver through the the tiny space and then Click. The painting opened. “Fuck yes” I said to myself. My eyes skimmed quickly, at the safe. My hands were a few inches from typing out the combination hack Dimitri had taught me. That was when I heard the sound of footsteps followed by a deep grovelling voice.

I shut my eyes and reopened them, goosebumps ran up my legs and I felt chills down my spine as I painted as quickly as I could as so slow as I could muster. He had a brown locket around his neck, it fell open and I saw that the photo had been missing. I could not see his hair through his hoodie and I wondered where his mask had gone but that was beside the point. Everything felt so surreal, so when I stepped to see how my painting had come out four hours later, My breath hitched at the sight that was before me, nothing, absolutely nothing could prepare me for this.

I memorized every inch of her body so that I could recall all the moles she has in her body. I bit my lower lip as the finished product astonished me. I stopped painting for three months and all my artworks are stored at the room designated for my works alone. By the time that I set it aside, I finished the second one. But still, Claudia kept on speaking and talked with me a lot. Unfortunately, the grapes she was eating fell on her mouth. It is when Claudia made a sound and twisted her back to get it until Claudia bent her knees a little whilst holding the barricade. With that position, I somehow got a playful idea which made me bit my lower lip.

Paint splattered on the floor, on furniture, on Amara's clothes, evidence of the emotional storm that engulfed her. Finally, as the last rays of sunlight faded, Amara stepped back, her breath catching in her throat. The finished painting loomed before her, an unintended masterpiece born from the depths of her subconscious. The eyes on the canvas stare back at her, intense and piercing, capturing a familiarity that sends a chill down her spine.

A low growl escapes through his lips glaring at Takeshi trying his best to get free from the robs. Different types and styles of painting handing over the wall some set over the left side of the basement. Over the right, the painting was literally destroyed or failed or left in the middle. “Yuki Ryuu you slept for a long while this time, didn't you ah you kept me waiting for so long to began with my new artwork” Takeshi mumbles under his breath walking towards his half incomplete canvas of dark brown. Beside him, a long stood along with the long table right beside different types of bruises a glass filled with red colour mixed under it, Along with that a canvas with the different shades of r

Ingrid comments. It's quite amusing seeing Alan this way. The usual serious frown on his face is replaced with a more relaxed expression, with a glint of mischief in his eyes. Their little banter fades into the background when something captures my attention. It's a painting. A young woman seated on the floor has letters scattered all around her. Ink is splattered on a few opened ones with a pen at the end. Her fingers are covered in dark ink as if she intentionally dipped them in it. I don't know what it is about this painting that has all my attention, but I can't tear my eyes away from it.

She painted storms—dark, swirling, angry blues and grays. She painted heartbreak—shattered shells, cracked mirrors. She painted hope—light breaking through clouds, small flowers pushing through sand. Some nights she cried while painting—Emily sat with her, silent support. Alexander brought tea. Noah brought snacks. They didn’t push—just stayed close. One evening—portfolio almost done—Lila called them in. She stood in front of the last piece: a large canvas—family on the beach at sunset, but fractured. Pieces of it torn, then stitched back with gold thread (kintsugi style). The cracks glowed—beautiful, not hidden.

Emma's hard breathing could be heard as she took sharp intake of breaths, in and out, intermittently. What had she just seen? She queried her mind, her eyes blinking continually as if in sheer disbelief of what she had seen. She ambulated towards the painting again, hoping to see the glow which had scared the life out of her. But when she had gotten to the painting, caressing it even again, hoping for the glow that had sharply burst forth out the painting few minutes earlier before dying out as fast as it had come, she had been disappointed; the glow wasn't forthcoming, and the picture had returned to its former state.