Short Story / Respect Amongst Artists
After 8 months of anticipation, the day had finally arrived for us to pack up and set off on our trip. My best friend Nick and I were ecstatic. It seemed like an eternity had past all those months that we had meticulously counted down the days untill we could finally express ourselves amongst our idols. No one could have been more excited then the two of us were that morning. Just one final preparation for this event had come time to acquire: Paint. What seemed like such a simple item to obtain certainly was not as it should have been for two teenagers with empty wallets. Thankfully, we had been blessed with creative yet corrupt minds.
Surprisingly enough it only took us a little under thirty minutes to transform our well-known image of two delinquents into sleek, professional businessmen. The pinstriped suits fit perfectly. It was as if they where tailored specifically for the well-pampered gentlemen that paraded down Wallstreet. Dawning jet-black shades; masking our eyes so that not a glimpse of our thoughts could be read; we strolled nonchalantly into the local art supply store. It was the middle of the day so the store was moderately busy, adding to our persona of two young gopher boys of some big-rig company running last minute errands. Looking around without turning my head more than a couple of inches, I confirmed our belief that we had entered unnoticed.
Nick and I each grabbed a shopping cart and headed ever so inconspicuously to the spray paint section. Pausing here and there to glance down upon a supposed need list, we filled both carts to the rim with a vast assortment of Krylon colors. No words passed between the two of us as sweat began to saturate our collars. A simple nod was all it took and we headed for the door. Just upon exiting, a woman brushed passed me and I froze in fear. Had our façade been discovered? My heart skipped a beat. A few moments seemed like an eternity as the woman turned to face me. Nick, a few paces ahead, nervously glanced back to see if our game was up. Yet, thankfully, the old woman simply waved back her snow-white curls from her eyes and gave a warm smile in apology. Our heart-pounding beat began to slow to a dull knock as we raced further and further away from the crime scene with our precious cargo. We were now set to take our venture to Paint Louis 2000.
We were leaving Oklahoma City at sunrise for a one-way shot to St. Louis.
Ordinarily, the trip would normally take roughly eight hours. After about 2 hours sitting in traffic on I-35, Nick decided that playing hopscotch by the method known as shoot the gap with his pacific blue Acura Integra at one hundred miles an hour would get us there faster. He was correct. Even with stops we knocked off about an hour.
The moment we reached downtown, the well-known expression, “On the other side of the tracks”, materialized before my eyes. The buildings groaned with termite-infested agony. The streets were littered with filth beyond my recognition and what little vegetation that was able to survive this wasteland seemed to cower in the shadows. Hunger finally tore away at our reservations and we mustered up defiant courage to stop at a seemingly deserted Taco Bell. A grotest woman shoved a grease soaked bag in some odd compartment. As realization hit us she hackled revealing the few rotting teeth that were still logged in her pathetic shell of flesh. The damn thing had a revolving bulletproof glass door instead of a window… Our only thoughts as we pulled away and slung the groutest bag out the window was “God help us”…
The smell of freshly sprayed paint that wafted throughout the car simply teased our anticipation. Merely two blocks away the fifty foot high/three mile long floodwall that caged the St. Louis River radiated in all of it’s magnificence before us. It was simply breathtaking; an artist’s paradise; as it is the largest place for graffiti artists to legally create their masterpieces. The first mile was already reserved for the well-know artists from around the world. Their pieces were breathtaking. Such detail and emotion opened your soul to brief glimpses of the artists’ minds. The emotion that had been poured and captured on our version of canvas baffled even the hypocritical. Dazed in awe, we could not help but take some pictures of vast murals that were created the year before. Reluctantly, we tore ourselves away and proceeded down the wall to capture and claim a spot of our own.
Once our spot had been officially claimed, tagged and dated, we ventured off across the bridge to find a hotel to crash at. After driving out into the middle of bo-funk we finally came across a seedy motel. Exhausted and drained, we stumbled under the floresent sign whose flickering of random letters cast an eerie glow across the beaten parking lot. Nick paused, yet before he could object we overheard the inviting voices of our friends radiating from every crevice of the roach motel. Ease passed over us and we joined the festivities of the evening…
One would think that after stumbling to our own room at three am after an entire evening of fun and games with old friends the last thing that we would be looking forward to would have been the wake-up call from the front desk a mere 4 hours later. Yet, like children awaiting their first day at Disney World, we never waited on the call. We awoke ready and fired to go. I barely had time to snatch a snack package from the breakfast buffet before hastily headed out the door.
Upon arrival, we were caught off guard with the overwhelming amount of artists that had already begun their pieces. It had seemed as if we were not the only ones who had become restless over the night. The aura of excitement filled the air around us as we trotted to our chosen canvas. The day passed as if a dream. We indulged in our passion and became lost in the sanctuary it had drugged our minds into. For us, dusk came too quickly. Reluctantly, we returned to the motel for much needed slumber. Before I could even lay my head to rest, my mind coheresed my concience into a blissful sleep.
The next morning I was rudely awoken by Nick. In his effort to awaken me, grasping my shoulders; frantically shaking my upper body; while screeching in high pitched hysterics that my groggy mind could not comprehend. After a few moments, the urgency in his voice broke through and forced me to a dazed conciencesness. I scrambled to put on the clothing that was being thrust at me. As I slowly fought for my awareness, my intuition began stirring. Evidently, something must have gone horrifically wrong. Nick had always been reserved and nonchalant no matter the situation he had been placed in. His demeanor was always soothing and non-abrasive. His talents of mediator had won him not only the respect of his peers, but also soothed and diminished the hatred between enemies.
Yet, this morning, Nick’s tense body language only confirmed that the ridiculous nightmare I had ignored might have actually happened. With my heart pounding I raced to my portion of the collage. I stood but a moment in front of my piece before I fell to my knees in my own disbelief and anger… That snake, my only enemy, had slithered during the night and using my own paint roller destroyed my masterpiece. The shear thought that even he, the most disrespected and dishonorable graffiti artist, had the audacity to sabotage my piece at a National event in the middle of the night like a filthy rat caste a sickening aura that simply boar an ominous weight of disgust; spreading like wild fire throughout the event. The name of the dishonorable never escaped anyone’s lips as the blasphemous event began its rotation. All knew Rick had been the culprit. The snake had been flushed out of the grass. His only downfall fell upon the misplaced belief that he did not realize his vengeful retaliation meant for one, would destroy his integrity with all…
As the rays of dusk flickered across my chosen canvas, I could not help but allow the overwhelming urge to lift the comforting Krylon can once more. It felt so soothing. It was as if each release stripped my soul of all discontentments. My soul fell into the welcoming arms of comfort as I slowly expressed my bottled emotions upon that great wall. With each passing stroke, I carved my thoughts and releasing my anger and frustration. Standing back to gaze upon my artwork in progress, the harsh world around me seemed to dissipate, leaving me unfazed by it’s unmerciful reality.
Nick and I finally tore away from the riverfront as hunger took over our thoughts. Conversing amongst us, I was distracted for a moment as flicker of movement in the shadow captivated my attention. I could not ignore the familiar silhouette that desperately tried to advert my line of vision. Yet, I was no fool. It was all I needed to confirm the identity of the vermin coiling through the shadows. The very sight of Rick rekindled my rage, forcing me to change my course to interject his own. As I approached, his very presence seethed with hatred and guilt forcing an unbridled contamination that grew so thickly that it forced all to recoil in disgust. His jealousy had overwhelmed him as he prepared to destroy another’s artwork. The very thought that he had the audacity to commit such a heinous act a second time overwhelmed me.
We stood simply mere feet apart, glaring through hatred filled eyes at one another. The air was thick with tension, as our mutual friends stood paralyzed in hesitation on intervening. The fury quickly rekindled and began to roar between us. It practically materializing as our reservations began to crumble. The silence that saturated our minds was maddening. Neither party could muster the audacity to begin the confrontation, yet neither of us could break the ever-growing anticipation. My compassion finally broke through it’s barriers, as I could no longer was able to detain my bottled rage. I lashed out in righteous fury for all to witness. Rick fell to his knees as my blow caught his jaw and shattered the smirk he had proudly held just moments before. My disgust seethed through every crevice of my being as he defiantly tried to maintain his crumbling shield of honor. As I hovered over him, I fell victim to my own compassion. My raged diminished as the realization saturated my understanding. I was overwhelmed with pity as my saddened heart finally absorbed the fact that this pour soul would never be able to drag him out of the slum his mind had settled in. Forced to live a life of solitude and forever in pursuit of acceptance, the path he had chosen was punishment enough. I watched as his pride washed away. His eyes dulled with the acceptance of his dishonor that enveloped and overwhelmed his arrogance. No words were necessary as I turned my back to the outcast and left him drowning in his own disgrace.
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I have to say, try double spacing between your paragraphs. That makes it easier on your readers who are seeing your piece on a screen.
The story seems to drag, probably because there is absolutely no dialogue. If telling the story in first person, I’d assume your protagonist said at least two words during the course of this trip he and his friend took to St. Louis.
I’d advise you to put some dialogue in your piece, spice it up a bit. I didn’t find any gross misspellings, and your grammar is fine, but you could work on your sentence structure [as everyone can, no one is perfect in this]. Try to make sure you don’t have any unfinished sentences or run ons, and check to see if you could make your sentences more than they are.
I would also say spend more time on describing the actual piece that your protagonist painted. From the beginning of the story, it seems as if they are doing something wrong, only to find out that it’s something they were legally able to do.
A twist is okay, if you set it up properly, so maybe in the middle, start hinting about it being something the two boys were allowed to do, as opposed to nearing the end when your reader finds out that they were attending an event.
Don’t give up, keep up the good work.
-Geisha
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I like the voice. But the tone changed from adventureous fun to morality and honor. I don’t think it worked in this piece. Mainly because you have the hero who passes judgement on his nemesis’s actions shoplifting tons of spray paint. Maybe it is acceptable in his culture/group but it is still not right overall and therefore probably not to your readers as well. He is a flawed character who doesn’t realize his flaws but can accept and judge the flaws of another?
Also, why switch the tone all of the sudden? You suprised us with the defacing and the enemy. There was no hint of it coming anywhere before it happened. This type of surprise weakens a story tremendously. Your audience was expecting one thing and you gave them another without even giving them a heads-up.
Grammar and spelling are an issue. You used the word compassion, yet the first time used, I think it was misused.
This story has a lot of good techniques in place, but it still needs more fleshing out. You did a decent job of showing instead of telling for the most part, but if you were to read it aloud, I think you may find areas that can be eloborated more and built up more to increase the involvement of the reader with your story.
Your enemy is paper thin. He is obviously thrown in for something to happen, but is he really neccessary? Could the conflict/climax be with the hero, while working on his masterpiece have an encounter with someone/something that made him realize he stole and hurt someone doing so? A life-changing experience and one that your excellent beginning seems to promise. Not this arbitary one of finding compassion for some cardboard enemy.
I hope this helps.
This is a really good read. It flows nice and builds the images and moods well. You have a few edits to make. You need a break in your second sentence between “past” and “all those months.” Change “events” to “task” or somthing of that nature. Some breaks in sentences are needed, but not a big deal. I can relate to the tale, everyone should have a adventure like this before they die. Your strongest line and my favorite line was, “Thankfully, we had been blessed with creative yet corrupt minds.”
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