"Paintings have a life of their own, a life that derives from the painter's soul."
Luke Lorence was reminded of this quote as he swept his brush across the blank white canvas. With every stroke, colors began to fill the empty space. And the longer he immersed himself in his art, the more the canvas came alive with lines, shapes, and structures.
"That's it. We're done for the day!"
This announcement snapped Luke out of his concentration. He stared at his half-finished painting for a long time before letting out a sigh.
As the class ended, the chatter of his classmates grew louder.
Luke, however, remained silent. He just cleaned his easel and packed his art materials with mechanical precision. By the time he was ready to leave, the classroom was still buzzing with laughter and conversation.
When he stepped out into the hallway, he vaguely heard someone behind him calling his name. Yet, instead of turning back, he quickened his pace. He just pretended not to hear anything.
It wasn't until he had put a safe distance away from the classroom did he slow down and take in his surroundings.
He was currently in the third-floor hallway, illuminated by the orange light of the setting sun. Warm rays streamed through the arched windows, casting long shadows across the old stone walls. Just by looking at this sight made everything seem dreamlike.
Luke's fingers twitched and his heartbeat quickened. The view sparked him a sudden inspiration and a strong urge to paint. The only thing that spoiled this moment was the existence of the students nearby.
Loud students, to be exact.
Luke watched a group of college students laughing and singing below. They seemed to be aspiring musicians, strumming their guitars with speakers blaring on the lawn. Their carefree energy just clashed with the peaceful beauty of the sunset.
Additionally, he also couldn't help but be distracted by the conversations of enthusiastic students along the corridor. Someone even accidentally bumped into him, but the said person didn't even turn back to apologize.
With a deadpan expression, he stopped looking around. After adjusting his wrinkled clothes, he continued on his way home.
As he walked, the sky gradually lost its orange hue and was replaced by dark shades of red.
Along with this, street lights began to turn on one by one, until all the streets and roads were illuminated by them.
Well, except for one.
Luke stared up at the unlit lamp post across from him, his expressionless gaze flickering with mild irritation. He clenched his fist as he watched the unlit bulb for a long time before walking past toward the building behind it.
Climbing up to the third floor, Luke entered his house. After tossing his old shoulder bag onto the living room sofa, he opened the curtains and silently gazed at the lamp post below.
It was then that he noticed a peculiar man standing across the street. Like Luke, he was also staring at the same lamp post.
Even though Luke was just one floor above the post, the man didn't seem to notice him. The stranger appeared completely absorbed by the unlit bulb, oblivious to his surroundings.
Luke was intrigued.
'Why is he looking at it? Is he here to change the bulb? Does that mean I don't need to call someone anymore?'
His thoughts were then interrupted when the man finally looked up and met his gaze. For a moment, neither of them moved.
Luke was slightly startled but didn't feel embarrassed. If anything, his curiosity deepened.
However, Luke was the first to break the stare. It was because the lamp post had suddenly lit up, surprising him and causing him to instinctively close his eyes. When he opened them again, the man had already vanished.
'Where did he go? How did he disappear so quickly?'
But Luke's curiosity faded as quickly as it had come. He just shook his head, closed the curtains, and then walked away.
As he sank into the sofa, he leaned back and murmured. "Why do I feel so sluggish lately?"
He then touched his forehead, and found it was burning. It didn't take long for him to realize that he was running a fever.
Luke's irritation rose along with his temperature. Clenching his fists, he exhaled in frustration.
He had a lot of deadlines to meet, especially for that painting earlier which he still wasn't satisfied with. The last thing he could afford right now was to be sick. But his body seemed to have other plans for him.
For a moment, he was silent, then, in a resigned sigh, he lay down on the sofa. He just hoped that a short rest would ease his discomfort.
...
He didn't know how long he had slept, but when he woke up, there were golden lights irritating his eyes.
And then, as his vision cleared, his eyes instantly widened in surprise.
Above him, several golden strings floated in the air, twisting and wriggling like long, glowing worms. They seemed to possess life with each one writhing sluggishly and erratically.
Luke's mind raced. Was he dreaming? Hallucinating?
He blinked rapidly, but when one of the strings drifted close to his face, he flinched and instinctively dodged.
Bam!
Luke yelped in pain as he tumbled off the sofa, landing hard on the wooden floor. The pain was so sharp and real, confirming that they weren't some feverish vision.
He stood up quickly, backing away from the strange floating strings. Rubbing his sore hip, he asked in a shaky voice:
"What… what are those?"