September 2024 Short STory

Lugging his suitcase as he walked briskly down the street, he went past the glimmering windows of high-rise buildings looming overhead. Despite the hot muggy weather, Connor wore a full tuxedo suit and tie, even if it meant sweating bullets by the time he arrived at his destination. He always wore a full suit whenever he was outdoors, along with his signature suitcase, which he carried along everywhere.

After pausing to cross the street, he made sure to only step on the unpainted portions of the asphalt, avoiding the white paint as if it would kill him if he stepped on it. Wiping his brow with a handkerchief, his suitcase hit a bump on the sidewalk and thudded as it jolted everything inside, much to Connor’s horror. Opening it carefully, he made sure the metal can carrying his wife’s ashes was undisturbed. Tightening it several times just to be sure, he was about to put it back but decided to twist check once more. He did this several more times, repeating it over and over, second-guessing himself. After finally satisfied that the can was tightly sealed, he placed it back into the suitcase and closed the bag, then checked that it was properly closed.

Arriving at the art gallery, he opened and closed the door three times before he was satisfied and walked to the reception desk. Ringing the bell exactly three times at perfectly equal intervals, he waited for the receptionist to come.

Other than carrying his wife’s ashes, he also used the suitcase to protect items like his latest acrylic painting; a beautiful scene of a gnarled tree growing on the edge of a cliff overlooking the sea. He had spent nearly half a year to complete that painting, but his attention to detail was unmatched by any other contemporary painter.

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“Good afternoon, Mr. Bates, do you have another painting you would wish to add to our collection currently in auction?”

Nodding his head several times, he meticulously set down his bag again and opened it, pulling out the beautiful painting protected by corner guards made of paper.

“It’s very good, we’ll find a place for it in the auction. What would you like to be the title of the painting?”

Taking a pen, he scribbled down on the pad the name he wanted to be displayed.

Alone but Alive.

“Very well Sir, and here is your payment for the sale of the last painting you gave us.”

Gratefully accepting the cheque, Conner slowly closed his suitcase and began the long trek back to his apartment on the fourth floor of a subsidized housing unit. 

Unlocking his front door, he locked it back, then unlocked it once more before entering the small bachelor pad. In the living room was an easel with his latest painting in the works. There was not a speck of paint messing up the painting area and everything was laid out and aligned perfectly on the small table next to the easel. 

Changing into his casual clothes, he noticed a wrinkle on his bedsheet and he could not do anything else till he fixed it and made it just right. 

Realizing he had not taken his evening medication, swallowed four large doses of powerful antipsychotics with a gulp of water, then took a deep breath to calm himself down.

Thinking back to his youth, he remembered his childhood, free from the need to be perfect and the bliss of not worrying about anything. He also remembered his wife, Natasha, his better half who made his life whole, before cancer took her away far too soon. The loss of Natasha hit Connor hard, causing him to be depressed and even worse, it started his onset of obsessive-compulsive disorder. Slowly, bit by bit, he was losing his freedom to act or think as his mind imprisoned his behaviour into obscure obsessions.

Snapping his eyes open, he hurried to the washroom to wash his face, feeling slightly better as the medication took effect. Going to the kitchen, he could only use the microwave to heat up a ready to eat meal, as his condition had made it too hazardous to operate an open flame or element on a stove. Finishing his meal in silence, he made sure to clean every smudge on the table before throwing out the empty tray.

Working on his painting, he carefully pulled up his sleeves, took the palette and started adding bits of acrylic paint onto it, from dark blues to burnt amber and deep greens. Painstakingly mixing a variety of colours to get the correct tone, he finally began to paint, putting on small brushstrokes in meticulous detail. A jar full of water was used to clean the brushes whenever a colour change was needed, and several different sizes of brushes were laying in the jar, keeping the paint from drying on them.

Back at the art gallery, Conner’s newest piece drew plenty of attention, as people marveled at the detail in the painting. After a fierce bidding war, the auction finished, and the painting sold for nearly twenty-five thousand dollars to an art collector based in Toronto.

Several months later, Connor entered the art gallery again, bringing with him his newest painting. Ringing the bell thrice, the same receptionist came almost immediately, smiling. Carefully unzipping the suitcase and taking out the well-protected canvas, Connor handed it over to the receptionist. When asked what the title of the painting should be, Connor thought for a moment before scribbling down another name. A Free Mind.

Looking at some of the other paintings being showcased, Connor admired the variety of styles from classical to modern. Watching as the curator placed his painting front and centre amongst the other works of art, Connor made a rare smile, proud of what he had accomplished. Taking his latest payment, Connor took one last look at his newest painting. It was a giant eagle, soaring free in the almost never-ending sky, flying so high it seemed to reach the stars.

The End