@@DESCRIPT="Child Painting by TS"                         

        Authors note:  Well this one is for all you short story fans..  This
one is a long one but I think its one of my best.  The title needs to be
changed and I think a little more needs to go in the ending..  But I do think
you'll enjoy it if you can read the whole thing.
                         
                         Child Painting
                         By The Stranger

     It started on a snowy November day when the leaves were all
but fallen and the grass was all but dead.  Big snow flurries
danced above in the sky and left its cold touch on the flesh of
anyone who stood in its path.  Bundled up pedestrians ran home to
the warmth of their homes hoping they wouldn't be bringing the flu
with them.  And I walked slowly down the concrete walk of the city,
surrounded by the ivy walls of age, and dressed in the luxury of
wealth, and that was the first time I saw him.
     I had walked out into the coldness of the night to feel the
thickness of the air pass through my lungs.  The winter air felt
like a cold lovers tongue working through my throat.  My tailored
coat draped over me fitting the curves of my old body, my scarf and
hat hiding my head from the freeze.  My godfather outfit I called
it sometimes, for it made me look like an italian mobster in an old
Cagney movie.  
     I walked down the main road of my small suburban home town
watching the moon smile down on me overhead.  The huddled masses
ran by me looking for shelter, cursing me in their heads for being
so, warm.  I smiled, flashing a dimple sunk into my old cheeks, and
tipped my hat at the ladies I knew.  Few of them took the time to
really see me.  The coldness brought out the worst of us sometimes.
     My cane stabbing through the snow looking for a place to sit
itself, my eyes piercing through the store fronts looking at the
merchandise.  The soft radiance of the streetlights shined
overhead, but they seemed to be fading as if they wanted to hide 
themselves from the winter.  A car skidded by, few cars were on the
road now as the weather man had urged us to stay off the streets. 
The driver twisting and turning in the snow and ice proved the
weather man correct.
     My eyes saw something from behind a store front window which
amused me.  It was a boy, dressed up in a little dark suit with
tall white socks and black handcrafted shoes, and behind him was a
meadow of dandelions.  He appeared to be an Amish boy running in
from the fields.  My eyes focused into the store and saw the boy in
the painting and my lips grew into a smile as I saw this lovely
child.  
     It was an oil painting and sat in a group of three paintings
at the front of the gallery.  The boy's eyes were in such a way
that he could watch the passerby's on the street as he waited for
someone to bring him home.  I stared at him with such affection you
would have thought he was my own child.  There was something about
him, his childhood qualities of innocence and freedom maybe, that
made me look at him with envy and with love.  
     A dark green hill was behind him and it was obvious that he
had just come running down from the hill through a path that was
beated out through the rows of dandelions.  The top of the hill
faded away to the sky or maybe to the heavens themself and the
child stood with a gasp of breath held in his lungs staring
straight out towards the artist or in this case, me.  Just a touch
of a relaxed smile sat on his face and just a bead of sweat sat on
his brow.  And in my old eyes I saw that boy looking more  
and more like me as a child until he had almost an uncanny
resemblance to the reflection of a memory of how I appeared as a
boy.  
     I walked away from the front of the gallery back into the
coldness of the night thinking about a time I had thought I had
forgotten years ago, my childhood.  And though the snow came down
harder and the wind picked up to the point where I thought it would
blow my fragile body down to the ground for a final time, I still
went home that night with a warm spot in my heart thinking about a
boy I once knew, a boy I once was.

Chap. 2
     The next morning I decided to walk into work so I could go
slowly and take my time gazing at the beautiful pictures of winter
the snowstorm had left us.  I might have been the only one out that
morning for all I knew, as the streets were as silent as a library
and dead as a cemetery.  The stores were all closed due to the
storm or more likely due to the lazyness of the shopkeepers who
didn't want to challenge the weather today.  But my bank was open,
always, a family couldn't afford me closing it if only for a day. 
        I stopped at the front of the gallery, finding it closed but
not finding that a surprise.  The young man I had seen the night
before still stood in a path of flowers but it only took my eyes a
second to notice a difference.  My eyes saw it before my mind could
understand but the image was off, something wasn't as it was before.  
The boy, who in my mind I was calling Joseph Jr. after myself, was no 
longer looking straight forward at me.  His head was
tilted, almost to the point where he would be looking over his
shoulder.  A funny sensation went through me as I thought `well
maybe he doesn't want me staring at him and so he's looking away'
but that wasn't all that was different.  A bead of sweat that had
sat on his forehead was now a river of sweat that flowed down from
the side of his face I could see.  And on the side of his face were
veins pulsating out, short red strands that were unsettled
underneath the skin.  
     My mind went over the three options that I could come up with. 
Number one, it was a work in progress and the artist had changed
the boys face around for some reason.  Number two, it was an all
together different picture than the one I had seen last night.  And
three, my age was catching up to me and I had become senile
overnight, or maybe it hadn't been overnight, I just hadn't noticed
it before.  
     I thought it couldn't be a work in progress because the boy
looked unscarred in anyway and if he had been changed I would think
I would be able to tell from a smudge or a different color around
his head.  Yes, it could be a different painting but except for the
head and the twisting of the body, it looked exactly the same.  And
yes it could be my senile mind playing tricks with me, Lord knows
it's happen in the past, but I didn't think that was happening now. 
     I left the gallery with my mind trying to think about what 
could have happened.  Obviously there would have to been an answer. 
The easiest way to find my answers would be to ask someone at the
gallery but ofcourse it was close.  So I told myself not to think
about it too much until the place was open and then I could ask
someone about the painting.  But a few hours at the bank with
little work to do kept the painting fresh in my mind and soon I had
a headache.  I closed the bank up early to the surprise of my
employees and went home, knowing I would pass the painting again. 

Chap. 3
     Night was still an hour away and the sun was still trying to
break through the clouds to melt the snow away.  I saw more
children out playing on my walk home then I did on the way to work. 
A few more adults walked the streets with there mates trying to
have a nice peaceful walk in the snow before the wind came back at
nightfall to reek havoc.  A slight haze of snow still fell and cars
still kept themselves off the hazardous roads. 
     My cane was getting lost down deep in the snow as my shoes
were having a hard time keeping my feet warm.  The soft white snow
falling onto my hair like a second layer to hide the bald spots. 
My legs feeling the bad mixture of winter and age.  But I walked
on, searching through the fog of the snow and my tired eyes for the
gallery.
     And my eyes woke up the second I saw him.  A cold shiver ran
down my body as my mind raced through what I was seeing.  I could
feel my heart pounding quicker than it had in twenty years and the
thought of a heartattack did cross my mind but then faded away as
I looked into the eyes of the boy.  
     His lips almost turned into a cry, his eyes shrunk behind
pain, and his legs starting to run.  He was looking forward once
again but this time something was clear, he was afraid.  I could
almost hear him screaming, his own heart beating as fast as my own,
his small legs trying to move but not having the strength.  
     I looked up at the top of the picture and saw what he was
afraid of.  Something huge, a man, an animal, a beast, was crawling
over the top of the hill, a dark shadow falling down the top of the
painting like lava over the hill of flowers.  Black hatred hiding
it from view but its size was enormous, ten times bigger than the
child.  My hand squeezed into the ring of my cane as my heart and
my own fear was getting the best of me.  I forced my eyes away from
the painting and stared into the oncoming darkness of night.  The
wind picked up a notch, the streets were once again empty as people
raced back into their dwellings.  And from infront of me I could
hear my name screamed in a tiny voice that had the rough edge of
urgency.  I looked back at the child and his mouth was wide open in
a scream, the beast behind him now standing at the top of the hill,
it's shadow capturing the boy.  
     I turned away and scurried into the night, the wind wipping at
my face, snow drifts hiding my footfalls.  My heart was  
threatening me to sit down or be made to sit down but I went on. 
I had to get to my house and do something.  The wind howling at me
as the lights of town came on but only with a dimness.  The black
cloak of night swept in faster than I could believe.  Choking on
the cold night air, I took each breath carefully as the coldness
was tearing at my throat.  The arthritis exploded in my hands and
legs, my soul begging me to fall down and lie to rest.  But I went
on. 
     My door opening like the heavenly gates to take me in.  I
pushed the door shut, reached the lock and drove it home until I
heard its final click.  And then I fell to the floor, the cold
shivers of my body trying to trap the warmth of the house but my
heart painfully begging for a final nap.  Just as the darkness had
trapped me at the gallery, I once again found the darkness an
uninvited guest, surrendering me to what I thought might be my
final rest. 

Chap. 4
     But I awoke, the warmth finally working its way through my
body.  My house surrounded by the dark which told me I was only out
for a short time.  I reached a lightswitch which burned through the
darkness of the house like a match.  My legs could still feel the
pain of my earlier trip but I walked towards my kitchen all the
same.  I still had something to do. 
     The telephone book fell open to a list of galleries, most of
them were in Chicago but one was located here in town.  I dialed  
the number I had found and was not surprised when no one answered
the phone.  I found in the ad for the gallery the name of the owner
of the gallery.  I dialed operator assistance and asked for her
home phone number.  The operator hesitated but I urged her on by
saying it could be a life and death situation.  The croak of my
rough voice might have helped make her believe this as she gave me
the number.
     I called her house, not knowing or even caring what time of
the night it might be.  Fortunately she was home.  I told her I
must have the picture tonight and that I would meet here there in
twenty minutes.  She questioned me about the weather but I told her
I believed it was letting up though I had not actually looked out
a window since I awoke.  She agreed to go. 
     I waited a few minutes before leaving, knowing she lived one
town over.  I gathered a clump of money that I had hidden in a
safe, this fact would surprise some of my friends since they think
of me as being someone who keeps his money in the bank, especially
since I owned the bank, but I felt there was less chance of me
mixing up my money and my customers money this way.  I didn't know
how much the painting was so I took a large amount.  I pulled out
of the driveway with eight minutes before the proposed meeting.
     It took me twenty minutes to get there due to the weather.  I
was surprised to see that indeed it had let up but still the drifts
were getting high and even my tires with chains rapped around them
still had some trouble.  I didn't see any other car as I got close 
to the gallery which at first upset me.  I thought I might have to 
break into the store if she wasn't there.  But I could see a light 
beaming from inside and a shadow of a women walking from art work 
to art work.
     She greeted me at the front door, I had a second of vanity
when I started thinking about my appearance.  My hair would
probably be wind blown so badly that I might have lost it all by
now.  "How kind of you to see me at this time of night on such a
ungodly night as this" I said as she welcomed me in.  "But I just
saw the painting today and I had to have it immediately."  
     "I understand" she said though I don't think she really did. 
She was a young woman, late forties early fifties, with dark black
hair and eyes as big as half dollars.  She wore a shawl that looked
expensive but yet it made her look older than she really was.  "Is
this the peace you were speaking of on the phone?" she asked. 
     I must have scared her as she reached her hand out to catch me
from falling and let out a high peep that was almost a scream.  My
legs had lost there balance, my eyes probably grew larger than the
woman's eyes, a pale haze blew over me.  The child's face was
large, almost covering the picture.  It looked more like a picture
you might take with a camera where the boy got to close to the
person taken the picture and so all you could see was his face. 
His eyes were all pupil, big dark black balls crying out for me. 
His mouth open wide to the point you could see down his throat.  
     But you could still see about a forth of the picture behind
him over his shoulder but it was all black.  The monster, the
thing, was there, standing over the boy, eliminating the sunshine
that stood behind them.  All that could be seen was a dark
blackness that might be its chest or maybe (don't think it) it's
mouth.  
     "Are you alright, sir" I heard somewhere in the distance.  My
eyes jumped away from the painting and I remembered where I was. 
The lady stood next to me, my arm still being held in her hand. 
"Why don't you sit down for a second" she said.  She pushed forward
gently and I could feel my feet falling back until the back of my
legs felt something, a bench, pinch at them and then I sat down.
     "I'm okay.  Just got dizzy for a second."  I rubbed my hands
on my face and twisted the loose skin almost into a ball.  Then my
hands moved up and started going through my hair, turning through
the tiny knots and feeling the almost sandpaper feel of my naked
skin.  "How much is the painting, by the way."  I asked, trying to
make her forget what had just happened. 
     "This piece is by a local artist from Chicago who we've just 
started showing a few days ago so it's very affordable.  It's only
two hundred dollars which I'm sure you know is a very good price
for an up and coming artist."
     I didn't know what the price would be but I did think it would
be a lot more than it was.  "Yes, that is a very good price indeed"
I said.   
     "It certainly is a lovely piece.  That girl is such a
beautiful child" she said looking over the picture.  "Her dark
black hair and that big smile almost reminds me of myself as a
child." 
     This struck me hard and I almost found myself falling towards
the floor again.  How could she not see the screaming boy and the
monster that waited to rip into his skin?  I regained myself and
decided to not think about what she had said. I stood up, hoping 
my legs would hold me, and reached into my pockets for the cash.  
I handed the lady two one hundred dollar bills and then a fifty.  
     She looked at the money and then said in a soft lovely voice
"What is this?"
     "For your trouble" I said.  
     "No, I can't" she said blushing.
     "I made you come all this way just so I could buy a painting. 
Please make an old man feel good and take the money.  Think of it
as a donation to your lovely gallery."  I smiled as big as my lips
would allow me and she did the same.
     "Let me wrap this up for you" she said and I allowed her.  She
brought me the picture, wrapped in manila colored paper and we
exchanged warm goodbyes and then I was on my way home.  The snow
had stopped, the wind blew like a work whistle at the end of the
day, and I carried home a painting not knowing what I was going to
do with it. 

 
Chap. 5

     I could feel my bones shaking as I entered forcefully into my
house.  The cold was no longer on my mind, the anxiety of opening
up the wrapping and seeing the picture was all I could think of. 
I laid it down in the den as I paced across the hall to where my
coat rack was.  I emptied my coat, my scarf, and my gloves across
the hands of the rack and then went back for my picture. 
     I could feel the strands of my gray hair stuck to my forehead
by the moisture of my perspiration.  My hand found a light switch
and at once the room became a stage where the picture shined in the
spotlight.  I went over to it, my feet not carrying me fast enough,
and with my uncontrollable nervous hands, I tore into the package. 
     The picture was revealed, I picked it up and sat it straight
up on my sofa so I could stare at it.  A sense of relief I have
never felt came over me as the painting showed a beautiful boy
standing before a giant field of dandelions, alone.  I fell to my
knees, my hands rubbing over the picture softly, feeling the
texture of the paint, and I laughed, and soon tears came to my
eyes.  
     My cries of joy echoing in my empty house while my body fell
further down onto the floor until finally I was sitting with my
back resting against the sofa.  I stood up on my weak tired legs
and moved over to a chair and for a while I just watched the
painting, not really knowing if I was expecting any thing to 
change in the image I was seeing, but knowing I wanted to gaze into
it and get lost. 
     After I left the room and went to bed for the night I started
thinking, maybe the picture never changed and it was all in my
mind.  It seemed to me know that that was the obvious choice.  I
thought my mind would race for many nights after I bought the
picture, thinking about what I saw in the picture and the fact that
maybe I didn't actually save the boy from some unbelievable death. 
And by the time my eyes began to close for the night I had decided
that it was all in my imagination and that I did not save the boy. 
But the next day, the boy told me differently. 
     And now Joe Jr. is a part of my family, really my only family. 
I don't go to the bank as often as I used too, as a matter of fact
I go as rarely as I can get away with.  I like to stay with my boy,
spend as much time with him as I can before I leave this world. 
But I still take walks, but now I don't do it alone.  My boy and I
walk and sometimes we run, through the dandelions, laughing and
screaming the whole way down the hill.  He makes me feel young
again, makes me feel like the child I once was, or actually more
like the child I wish I was.  Maybe its not him, maybe its just his
world.  Maybe a combination between the two.  The air there is
different, lighter maybe, doesn't way my lungs down as much.  
        And so we run through the dandelions, hand in hand, laughing 
and screaming, without any worries of growing old.  But sometimes 
I do find myself looking over my shoulder as we come running down 
the hill.  You never know when the monster may return and I just 
hope I can get us both back over when he comes.

