The good news: you have the magical power to bring any painting you create to life.
The bad news: you neglected to paint your cat’s skeleton and respiratory system.
During the last stream, chat voted that we write this prompt: A young artist is given magical powers. Problem is that they don’t really want them.
Scroll down to read our story below, or watch it here.
So many great ideas coming together for this one!
When I first realized I had the magical power to bring things to life that I’d painted, I was ecstatic. I could paint myself a dragon to ride on, delicious cakes to eat, or maybe even a friend to draw pictures with. But the first time one of my creations came to life from the canvas, it was a disaster.
Probably because I was five years old and a terrible painter.
I’d drawn a cute cat, complete with a smile and four legs and a tail, but when I stood back and it sparkled to life, it fell off the canvas with a disgusting splat. The blue and orange cat didn’t move. Paint spilled out from underneath it like puddles of blood. Nervous, I tiptoed up to it and yanked up its ear, revealing its face.
It was like the cat had been run over by a truck. Its face dripped down in my hand, no skeleton or organs to keep it in place. Its eyeballs rolled backward and its mouth gurgled bubbles of paint as it uttered the only sound it made before it passed from our world.
“Hrrnnngggooowwww.”
I screamed, dropped the dead cat, and ran to my room, hiding under the bed covers, vowing never to paint again.
***
It took me five years to work up the courage to try out my powers one more time. I’d realized my mistakes from before. If I was bringing my creations to life, then I couldn’t skimp out on all the things that were necessary for life. Brain, heart, stomach, intestines, bones, muscle – I needed to paint them all.
With all my encyclopedias open around me, I pressed the brush against the blank canvas. First the skeletal system. Then the respiratory system. Then the vascular system. Carefully, I painted each one on top of the other, finally ending with the fur and face. Taking a deep breath I stepped back, and watched the painting sparkle to life.
I didn’t dare breathe as the cat fell onto the newspapered carpet. It landed on all fours. My eyes burned as I resisted even one blink, not until I’d seen it move. It put one of its paws forward, took a step, and….
“HHRRRRNRNGGGOOOOOWWWWWW!!!”
Bones splintered through the cat’s fur and blood gushed out from every opening. It screeched and howled as its mangled body collapsed on itself, organs popping out like tumors and bursting like water balloons.
I covered my mouth in wide-eyed terror, unable to turn away from the monstrosity that I’d created. Only after a minute of staring at its torturous demise, did I realize that I should do something, but by then there was no need. What lay on the floor in front of me was no longer a cat but an amalgamation of hair, bone and blood.
After taking a moment to collect myself, I tried to figure out where I had gone wrong. Kneeling down to inspect the mass of flesh and fur, I immediately saw the problem. Sure, I’d painted all of the bones and organs, but I’d gotten the proportions all wrong. I’d merely eyeballed them, not bothering to make sure that they were accurate. The skeleton had been just a bit too big, the meat-shields surrounding them a bit too small, and the result of my ineptitude now festered before me.
Realizing how impossible it would be to actually bring something to life with my power and have it be happy and healthy, I vowed never to paint again.
***
Until five years later.
I’d done my best throughout my life and school to avoid drawing at all costs. Whenever I had to draw in class, I’d just get a friend to do it, or download a picture online and print it out. If anyone asked why, I’d just chuckle and brush it off as having no artistic talent. Thankfully no one pushed the issue.
But then one day, in history class, I got bored. As the teacher blabbed on about World War This or President That, I accidentally started doodling in my notebook. I drew some circles, then some sticks, then a hat, and before I knew it I had a snowman on my page.
The moment it started sparkling, I realized what I’d done. My blood went cold. I tried to hide it with my hands, fearing what terrible sounds the snowman would make when it appeared it front of me.
But it didn’t cry or scream or bleed or anything. The snowman popped into life, the same white-and-black-lined color that it was in my notebook, looking as happy in three dimensions as he had been in two. For the rest of the class, I sat in awe of it, not hearing a word that the teacher said.
Seeing the snowman gave me new determination. That day I brought it home, busted out my old art supplies, covered the floor with newspaper, and went to work. The snowman sat on the ground, watching every stroke I made.
It took a long time, but finally I made it happen. The painting of my cat glistened and sparkled even more than the sweat on my brow. When it hopped off the page onto the floor, it spoke:
“Meow.”
It looked up at me with its big, bright eyes and I reached down to its blue and orange fur with a trembling hand. As I stroked it, it purred and rubbed its velvety nose against my wrist, and my heart melted. Swallowing hard, I went for the next step: scooping it up in my hands. The cat didn’t resist, if anything it flowed right into my cradled arms like it had always meant to be there. I stood up, heart pounding for joy against my precious kitty creation, and walked over to the window. Outside was my backyard, filled with sticks stuck in the ground.
“You see all those sticks out there, Toothpaste?” I cooed, bobbing the cat up and down as it purred. “All of them… they show where your brothers and sisters are. All seven hundred and eighteen of them.” I rubbed my face against Toothpaste’s fur. “It’s been a long time getting you here, sweeties, but it was all worth it.”
If you want to join us and help write a story by trolling in chat, or share your own writing for feedback, then we’d love to have you. We stream on Twitch every Sunday, Tuesday, and Thursday at 7:30pm-11:30pm (U.S. Eastern Standard Time).
And you missed the stream, you can still watch them on the YouTube channel, or watch the full stream reruns.
Hope to see you next time, friend!
Scott Wilson is the author of the novel Metl: The ANGEL Weapon,
forthcoming March 2019.
Featured image: Photo-AC