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Cao Ruining


The Portrait

The Portrait

 

The lonely portrait remembered its time of being in the vast manor, seeing busy people cleaning the weeds around it. The manor’s structure looked like a forbidden palace, but way smaller. 

 

The portrait saw peoples’ scissors cutting emotionlessly across and through the yellow, dry weeds, trimming off the lifeless tops and pulling out the loose roots that grew into the ground, trying to make themselves a path to the manor.

 

Some people came in groups, some came individually, the portrait has seen generations of people coming, young and old, whistling tunes, chatting as they started the cleaning. Everyone seemed to be coming for the same purpose, for some sort of treasure in this manor, the ones that will guarantee them a luxurious life. 

 

No one has the patience yet. As the stems of the weed got stiffer, they slowed down. Drops of sweat dripped from their forehead, the rough handles of the scissors created blisters on their hand, red and swollen. People come and go, until someone has the patience. 

 

A group of middle-aged men, with huge hats and scarfs, with specialized scissors, gloves, and slaughtered all the weeds as they came through, stepping through the field, until they arrived at the massive, magnificent door of the manor. 

 

They banged their brutal hammers against the door, aggressively, every hit responded with strong vibration, until the lock shattered, fell, making a muffled sound when touching the ground. 

 

The door opened. 

 

After a loud squeaking noise, every footstep echoed in the spacious lobby, all red, velvet curtains remained unrevealed like a theater veil, rejecting the already lacking sunlight, in the color of a sick greenish-yellow, keeping piece of furniture inside the manor untouched, and remains its shine even under thick gray dust. 

 

Floor is layered with shining marble. Smooth, polished, reflecting everything, every footstep taken. Lifting the eyes, the wall is painted with pure scarlet red, hidden, artistic patterns appeared as the light of torches shined into the pond of redness. 

 

The curtains were pulled, the furniture were moved, and the portrait hangs by the entrance, as an audience. 

 

Until their vision refocused onto the portrait. 

 




Envoyé: 09:34 Sat, 23 March 2024 by : Cao Ruining age : 16