Secret Santa Short Story for @jelloloaf 's Prompt:
New Year's Resolution is to finally comment on this jaja. I wanted to try and do a really deep reading, but I just kept not having long enough chunks of time to sit down with it properly. Hope it was worth the wait, and thank you for writing the story!
An interesting choice for the title. Using 'our' makes me think of the painting almost as another person; a very evocative note to start on. Also, there's a period included, not the most common for titles. It gives it a sense of finality -- this is an ending.
The smell of varnish lingered in the air—familiar and comforting. It was a way to treat wood, to protect it.
The description of the varnish smell is interesting; you've taken a sharp, chemical odor and called it comforting. It's an immediate hook that draws me in very well and makes me curious about the mystery. The follow-up sentence is great as well; you immediately resolve the confusion by saying that it's because it's protective, before giving me another question to wonder about. An excellent opening line.
The wood itself is used to protect something else, to frame something else.
You're packing so much into every single sentence. The repetition of 'protect' from the previous line emphasizes it, and then the framing (pun intended jaja) is so good. The narration is drawing inward around the painting; going from the scent in the air surrounding it, past the frame, and gently into the center to take a look at the canvas.
A memory that lived longer than its creator.
I love your description of what a painting is! Visual art is so cool to me; we're taking this specific image and we're keeping it safe so that we can remember it again and again. The past tense gives it a really wistful tone though; the original subject is gone, and we just have the painting to remember it.
The smell of paint, however, was absent. It had been some time since the tinctures were opened, since the brush last kissed the canvas.
Going further into the wistfulness here; if it's been a long time since it's been painted, then it reinforces even more that the painting is the only surviving record. But, at the same time, the lack of paint smell feels almost like a good thing. Scent is an inherently destructive process; little bits of something flaking off and being taken into yourself. By noting its absence, we can see that the painting is still pristine, untouched by the processes of time that doomed its subject.
The situation itself was completely different then the ones experienced so many times before.
The contrast was stark from the long corridors and expansive spaces of museums we once visited. No pristine holder walls or skylights here, just the slanted ceiling and the soft glow of a single lamp. Yet this room, unlike any gallery, held my favorite painting.
Again, your framing is so good with the sparseness. I especially love the contrast of the skylight versus the lamp; sunlight is vast and distant, but the lamp is held close, very personal. You also start dropping hints here about what the subject of the painting is: 'the museums that we once visited' probably isn't referring to the speaker and the painting, given that the current room is unlike any gallery in holding it. Very good.
Inspiration could come from anywhere, really. An horizon, a vista, an interesting object or one out of place.
A special person, or one not noteworthy at all. Someone who could become a partner in all things, in sickness and health…
I think this is where it gets a lot clearer what the painting is of. The trailing off wedding vow is really evocative, especially the particular one you've chosen. A painting of a spouse; a very special thing in a world where we can now just take a picture. Spending hours upon hours to not only capture a memory of someone, but to give it such a personal touch . . . beautiful.
Visiting places that existed to do art exhibitions was always different then everything that surrounded them.
Cities, plains, forests, deserts… Different countries with different cultures throughout the whole world.
Every moment that stayed in memory and some that hadn't.
I haven't got any deep analysis here, just more gushing about your descriptions. The sparseness works really well, especially when you drop incredible lines like the last one here. By isolating each line, you make them even punchier, and I love it.
It was a piece no critic had reviewed, no patron had admired. Some might have called it tacky or disorganized, debated its classification, and assigned it to a movement or style. To me, it was simply the last painting of my dear partner.
This is where I start to imagine all the backstory behind the little snippets you've shown of these people's lives. A travelling painter, going around the world with their partner, who may or may not also be one themselves, but definitely shares their love of the art. Something happens, maybe illness, maybe injury, maybe just old age, but regardless of what it is, they're still holding on to that joy despite their situation. They make one last painting for their partner to remember them by; one where perhaps the lines are a bit shaky, but it's filled with just as much love as before. You're making me cry here and it's only been a few sentences since I even met these people.
"To say that I will miss it… That would be an understatement." I whispered, my wrinkled hands trembling as they traced the wooden frame. The glass shielded the canvas, but I could feel every brushstroke as if they were still being made, my memory of the act would stay, I was sure.
"To travel all over the world, to record our times in so many different places…"
And here we have the counterevidence to my theory jaja. Who was the one who made the painting; was it a self-portrait, or a way to remember the loss of a loved one? Ultimately, I feel like your approach makes both of them plausible, which is great in my opinion. Open to interpretation means that I can spend more time turning it over in my head.
Traveling was their dream. Together, it became ours. Cities, plains, forests, deserts—a life spent moving, discovering, capturing. Every place we visited left its mark, a moment etched in time and recorded in paint. This painting was a culmination of all those memories: a map of our hearts, rendered in color and texture.
"Something we did together."
Again with the vagueness. Are both of them are painters? Or is it just a way to say that they went to all these places together, experienced all the same memories, even if only one of them held the brush? As I said before, this makes me frustrated in a good way because I get to spend longer wrestling with the answer. Your writing style is so much fun.
I missed them.
"...and I will miss you, too."
Aough this is perfect. No comments. Print the story, cut this part out, and put it on your wall because it's a masterpiece.
The painting was important, I could tell every moment that was brushed and if I forgot something, I could always wander the house, like my own private exhibit.
This is such a beautiful visual. Getting to physically walk through reminders of everything they've shared together is peak relationship goals. I want to meet someone who will do this with me.
"Our baby grew up looking at your paintings," I continued. "I'm sure this one will also become their favorite."
The thought brought a bittersweet smile. Our child had inherited the same restless spirit, the same yearning to see the world. They'd spoken of it often and with the same wonder you did in our youth. Dreaming aloud of the adventures they'd take. And when the time came, they went—with our blessing, of course.
"They visit us, you know," I said, as if my partner were still there to listen. "Even while they're out there, experiencing life the way it's meant to be lived. They have a family now, their own home. But they still travel. And they'll keep traveling after I'm gone."
"They looked and dreamed and took inspiration in our own journey, dear."
Heza's Hands, you can't keep doing this to me. You've depicted such an incredible relationship in so few words, while hinting at an entire life behind it. It's a tiny snapshot, but there are so many little details around the edges that show what it was cut out of.
The doctors had said there was nothing wrong, just old age. Old age that had already taken my partner and now edged closer to me. But there was peace in that. We had lived fully, deeply.
Old age took us apart and would allow us to meet again.
And now we finally learn what happened to bring about the ending. I like that you've kept the cause of death as simply aging; a more sudden end would be very tragic, but by making it the sort of gradual decline, it lets the characters come to terms with it and overall be a lot more bittersweet. They've already felt all the feelings there were, and it's time to move on.
"Last year you gave them your tools…" I murmured, fingers brushing the frame. "You should've seen what they accomplished using them. You would've been so proud…"
Another question answered, the speaker's partner was the one who was a painter. I think you do an exceptional job setting up these little mysteries and then slowly resolving them; it gives the story a very comfortable flow. The end is inevitable, but it won't be harsh.
Most of the other paintings would go with the will, be sent to some of the museums we visited, to the remaining friends that would take care of them. But this one—this one was special. It belonged with them, just as they belonged to the world it depicted.
This is such a lovely sentiment! The whole story has an almost parable sort of feel around it; like I could show this to someone and expect them to be wiser at the end. It's great.
"The most heartfelt masterpiece," I said, sliding the painting into its wooden holder with care. The faint scrape of wood on wood was almost ceremonial. "You will be their legacy now."
"A centerpiece, I'm sure. In whatever place they will put you on."
The separation between the two lines of dialogue is really interesting to me. Sort of like taking a moment's pause, but moreso. In addition to thinking of the centerpiece placing as being connected to the idea of the legacy, it also invites me to think about both separately. Whoever their child is, they have a life of their own, despite how important their parents were to it. That's a lot of meaning to fit into something as small as a line break, but you pull it off perfectly.
My hands were steady now, as I moved the painting into the box that would hold it for a few days.
"I will visit, of course. So I will see you again."
The contrast of the steady hands despite the likely lack of physical strength due to age is incredible, especially with the implication that the speaker is close to death. Their last moments being full of remembered vitality fits so well with the theming, and the simple acceptance of their fate is lovely as well. A life lived fully and deeply indeed.
The faint, muted scrape of wood on wood didn't echo in the room, but I still felt like it did.
"It won't be the same." I said, though my heart softened.
The callback to the 'almost ceremonial' scrape of the painting frame against the protective case is very nice. All the way back in the first lines, you established wood as protective, so by adding more and more layers, the speaker is building up the walls around this last memory of their partner, to keep it safe when they won't be there to do it themselves.
I felt the paper wrapper, smooth yet sturdy, being folded into just the right size for the box.
"It will be special, still."
I love how you've characterized the speaker. I know a lot of people fear death, and his acceptance of it is very refreshing. It will be different, but it will still be special, because they'll get to see their partner again. Exceptional writing.
The tape was transparent, not breaking the greens and reds and little decorative designs all around.
Festive, without being gaudy.
"Maybe this will be the last time I talk to you like this," I said, stepping back to admire the wrapped gift. "But just looking when I visit will be enough. So, thank you."
Tying the bow was harder, but I wouldn't call for help for this, this was my farewell.
"Thank you for being special and not at all. A dream come true and something my dear did at the last possible time."
I'm a huge sucker for characters pouring their hearts out like this and you write it so so so beautifully. No commentary, but please accept me sobbing in lieu of it🙏
This line, I think, really encapsulates what I love so much about the story. It's an ending, and the end is beautiful.
"Now I just have to move you to the tree. And wait for the day. Yes?" Sometimes, I felt like I could hear them still, quiet murmurs, the sound of brushstrokes and little answers to questions like this. "My baby will take care of you, I'm sure. They will love you just as I do."
The last time I would move it.
It was slow, and didn't take much time at all.
The journey felt symbolic, a final act of love. The gift nestled beneath the branches, its bright paper catching the glow of the twinkling lights. I straightened up slowly, my body tired but my heart light.
The end draws near. It's incredible how you've made me care so much about these people in such a short time. Really, really exceptional writing.
All is in its place, now.
"I won't say goodbye." I whispered. "Just see you later, okay?"
AAAAAAAAA YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME PLEASE. I KNOW I SAID I WAS READY TO ACCEPT THE END BUT I'M NOT.
The house was quiet as I turned off the lights and made my way to bed. Tomorrow, my child and grandchildren would arrive. After some days, they would unwrap the box and rediscover the painting that had been the result of our dreams.
Our History would live on. In another time, in another home.
I don't think I can explain it in a coherent way, but the 'History' being capitalized is such a perfect detail. I love it, and I love you for writing it.
Loved, but never forgotten.
This was such an incredible story! It's short, but just completely packed with meaning. I also really love how you kept the lines so separated. By spacing out the sentences, often with just one in a paragraph. It gives the story such a nice, slow pace, where it's easy to linger on each detail and get a rich image from it. Thank you again so much for writing, and I hope that you've had a lovely holiday season!✨
Hope you're all able to spend the holidays well, whether you're alone or with family and friends. This upcoming bit of writing is something that I feel is below the standard of quality I would usually wish to achieve. It's this way because the prompt I was given was hard to interpret and write in a way that I could not come up with something satisfactory within two weeks. It was hard for me to figure out just what to do, made doubly so by the secondary challenge by the prompt maker that I ultimately abandoned the challenge. I sincerely wish I could have written something better, but the deadline is tomorrow, and I am just drained from writing this. So I hope you all enjoy what I have to offer, I'm off to bed now.
