Art of Freedom


ago
2 min
56
readings
15
Qualified
Image of Fall 2020
Image of Short Fiction
The clock struck once. The man released me of my shackles and I was delighted! Overwhelming feelings of glee flowed through me as I skipped towards the cafeteria. Oh, how I could already picture the perfection of a well-made chicken pot pie in my head. This would be a spectacular lunch for me! Do you know why? They’re going to give me a paintbrush! Yes, you heard me correctly, a paintbrush. But what does one like me use a paintbrush for you may ask? Well, I shall use the paintbrush to create art, of course. And it’s freedom. Art meant freedom. No pale white walls of clouds surrounding me; no more bonds or ties to the pain; no more disgusting lemonade made by Griselda every Tuesday morning. Everything is going to be alright now.

The clock struck two. They slowly unbound my chains and told me that I was going to get a chance to “prove my sanity”, “prove I am not crazy”. What a preposterous idea indeed. For I was the sanest man I know. The chains of Tartarus could no longer hold a free soul such as mine. I gracefully walked out the gates with confidence of my new profound sanity. I was no longer plagued by the demons of the past but instead I was blessed by the deities of bright mahogany future! Today was going to be a great day. I can tell already from the light drizzle of rain emitting from the sky. How glorious today shall be. I pranced along a road of red. Each step resulted in the satisfying crunch and crisp on young autumn. I smiled and said “hello” to my fellow citizens of this unique civilization we live and thrive in. A breeze of cold, frigid wind glazes me as I admired the majestic looking statue of mother nature. The cold didn’t bother me nor did else around me because I knew I was free.

The clock struck three. You see, most people of this decadent civilization do not realize what being free means. Being free meant I could explore the earth. Every inch and square of its ever-lasting of its awe-inspiring beauty. For the world is your canvas to paint. The possibilities are almost endless. You could paint a little raft and sail away to the bakery two blocks down the street! You could paint a horse and ride away to Australia!

The clock struck four. Suddenly, I heard the rapid sounds of footsteps. I did not like footsteps. Footsteps terrify me in a way you could say. Our civilization is cursed with underlings who did not understand the definition of art. How art could shape the world? How art can paint your endless roads out of misery and despair? How art is a tool for escape? The men dressed in the sickly shade of white grabbed me from behind and dragged me away from my paintbrush. I was so close, yet so far. These ill minded buffoons have robbed me of my right as a man to paint my own journey.

The clock struck five. I was imprisoned once again in hell. They do not understand that art is the cure for this decadent civilization. They are too simple minded to understand what the paintbrush is capable of. For this generation is doomed without me. But I now understand and accept this fact. The possibilities are almost endless. For there is one thing you cannot paint. That thing, is freedom.
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