Regular Show Artwork Novels & Stories

ARIA’S POV The day of the event, The Horizon Art Gala, arrives, and everything is meticulously prepared. Julien has kept his plans close to the chest, but tonight, he will reveal the surprise he has been keeping from the media and the public; me and my artwork, "The Abyss," an abstract piece that captures the depths of human emotion.

I stand tall in front of the easel. "I think if I'm the subject, I should have a right to know, shouldn't I" He folds his arms. I swallow. "No. My art is not for viewing." I stand firm. He nods. "So, you've said. But technically, I already know what I look like, so you might as well show me." "No." I cross my arms. "I could command you to show me." He smirks. "Please don't." I whine.

The smell of wet concrete grounds me in the moment. I head back inside. I mix more colors. Glass jars tinkle softly as I work. The palette becomes a glorious mess of reds and yellows. I sketch a brand-new idea on paper. The pencil scratches with every line. My phone rings once more. It is Marcus again. He confirms the details. “Solo show on December fifth. We will promote it big. Expect a real crowd.” I nod even though he cannot see me. My voice stays steady. “I am in.”

"CLICK!!!! A bright light blinded my eyes for a few seconds, and my vision cleared; I saw a girl standing three feet away from me, holding her phone. She's wearing this oversized shirt, double the right size for her body, baggy pants, and a Converse. She tied her golden brown hair in messy buns above her head. I blink my eyes once, thrice, before everything that happened sinks into my mind. I quickly stood up, and My chair created a loud sound when it scratched on the floor.

Pearl walked in the door and Rhys greeted her with a hug. "How did it go?" He asked. "It went well. We decided to use the picture of us from our first live show in New York as the inside pic of the band and Dylan's wolf painting he designed as our logo for the cover. It looks bad ass." Pearl told him, walking into the kitchen. "And the video?" He asked.

"Did you know you’re the first person I’ve shown my artwork to? And the only one, beside my parents, who knows I paint." "Not even Nelly?" "Not even her." "Why?" "What do you mean why?" "Why hide your talent?" "As I’ve said before, I don’t want people to know I can paint. It’s a hidden skill I prefer to keep hidden. So please, don’t tell anyone." "Then why?" she asked again. He furrowed his brow. "Why?" "Why are you showing them to me?" That silenced him. He had no answer. Despite the flutter in her chest, she smiled. "Cat got your tongue?"

"Okay, this artwork is called ‘Disintegrating Reality.’ Quite a unique name, if I should say so myself." Julian turned his gaze to Leslie, his lips tilting up at her eagerness. The MC unveiled the painting, and gasps could be heard throughout the entire auditorium. Leslie’s eyes widened in horror as they landed on her painting. The beautiful piece she’d spent weeks creating was marred with a disgusting green, runny liquid that looked a lot like green dye or paint perhaps. "Ugh, what is it?" the MC questioned, repulsed. "Is this a joke arranged by the organizers?"

“Ok, from my understanding Merit Global is still unfamiliar, whereas your business has been around for quite some time now so bones in the closet and all. We give everything that could imperil the development of the merge consideration.” “Precisely. And you’re correct, this is a huge responsibility, so that is why you’ll be working from here. We updated your computer with the latest software and programs to make your transition a little smoother. “How reliable are you with social media?” “Thou Art Blues.” River speaks and Sebastian raises an eyebrow. “Amateur art?” The man chuckles and River smiles. “Thou Art Blues had the ideal design for the more articulate of this century and it even got

“And you suggesting medication only means you’re indirectly calling me sick and unstable.” “I— I didn’t mean that,” Shawna stutters, but I have no interest in hearing more of it. So I walk away. Making my way through the crowd, I arrive at the front to watch the art reveal. There are several canvas lined up on the stage, each covered with a black silk cloth. The canvas are meant to be uncovered by the owners of the artworks. And I notice my work is the last.

Not the dark, brooding forests of his early work, but vibrant, chaotic landscapes that seemed to pulse with life. The show was titled Reclaimed. "He sold out," Noah whispered in her ear, coming up behind her. "Before the doors opened. The red dots are everywhere." "He's talented," Aria said, beaming. "And he has a good backstory. The art world loves a backstory." "He has a good family," Noah corrected. "That's why he paints light now." They walked through the crowd. Aria saw faces she recognized—Claire, sketching the guests; Sienna, arguing with a critic about the lighting; Marcus, holding Hope on his shoulders so she could see.