Fiction - Trompe L'œil
Title: Trompe L'œil
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Angst, dark, psychological
A/N: This is intended to be a 3-6 part piece. Tablo searches for inspiration, and each time, some cruel, unfortunate and otherwise permanently scarring incident is brought up, stopping the artist's progress.
Tablo sits in his room every night. It’s dark, and cold, and a bit cluttered. Nonetheless, he sits on the rug in front of him, which still emits a musky scent, not to mention its dark stain from three years ago still clinging onto it.
One of those nights, around two o’clock, the troubled
writer looked around for inspiration.
One, the bookshelf
Hemingway
Salinger
Plath
Vonnegut
Nabokov
And this list went on, across the rows and rows
of his impeccably kept library.
He pulled down Lolita and leafed through each of the crisp pages,
untouched since the fourth masterpiece. He smiled as he ran his fingers over the words.
They seemed so palpable and flexible to him… he could write something with it.
But instead a shudder rocked his spine as time flashed past him,
Mithra’s handwriting and poor English scribbled against the aging paper.
Notes Chords
Words Rhymes
Sentences Poetry
Lyrics?
And then that familiar
Mithra
face appeared
But no. This wasn’t a dream
illusion
hallucination
It was real.
and Tablo screamed.
A ghostly pale face with huge black eyes, glistening in the dark
Jin?
No, Tablo.
drip drip
Unconsciously he had snapped his pen in half
drip drip drip
Looking back up, Mithra was gone. Disappeared.
drip drip drip drip stop.
stop dripping.
The droplets of ink reminded him of blood
of Jin’s accident.
of his
suicide attempt
he wanted to get to
the pavement and feel
nothing.
Instead, he landed on a car Tablo’s
Tablo screamed.
one drip.
stop.
two drips.
stop, now.
three drips.
blood drops
dry-cleaned white shirt
red, redder, reddest stain
and it spread like the ceaseless misery in Tablo’s flesh,
progressing like some sort of disease that ate away at his soul
he ran back home, glass digging into his skin from the impact
laid down on the rug and bled.
“너무많은걸 알려고하면 다쳐,” Tukutz whispered.
and that’s the story behind the stain on the rug
the now crumpled page
balled up into a miserable unfinished thought,
then thrown into the ménage of hundreds of other failures just like it.
*Trompe L'œil --> Optical illusion
*너무많은걸 알려고하면 다쳐 --> Knowing too much will only hurt you
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Angst, dark, psychological
A/N: This is intended to be a 3-6 part piece. Tablo searches for inspiration, and each time, some cruel, unfortunate and otherwise permanently scarring incident is brought up, stopping the artist's progress.
Tablo sits in his room every night. It’s dark, and cold, and a bit cluttered. Nonetheless, he sits on the rug in front of him, which still emits a musky scent, not to mention its dark stain from three years ago still clinging onto it.
One of those nights, around two o’clock, the troubled
writer looked around for inspiration.
One, the bookshelf
Hemingway
Salinger
Plath
Vonnegut
Nabokov
And this list went on, across the rows and rows
of his impeccably kept library.
He pulled down Lolita and leafed through each of the crisp pages,
untouched since the fourth masterpiece. He smiled as he ran his fingers over the words.
They seemed so palpable and flexible to him… he could write something with it.
But instead a shudder rocked his spine as time flashed past him,
Mithra’s handwriting and poor English scribbled against the aging paper.
Notes Chords
Words Rhymes
Sentences Poetry
Lyrics?
And then that familiar
Mithra
face appeared
But no. This wasn’t a dream
illusion
hallucination
It was real.
and Tablo screamed.
A ghostly pale face with huge black eyes, glistening in the dark
Jin?
No, Tablo.
drip drip
Unconsciously he had snapped his pen in half
drip drip drip
Looking back up, Mithra was gone. Disappeared.
drip drip drip drip stop.
stop dripping.
The droplets of ink reminded him of blood
of Jin’s accident.
of his
suicide attempt
he wanted to get to
the pavement and feel
nothing.
Instead, he landed on a car Tablo’s
Tablo screamed.
one drip.
stop.
two drips.
stop, now.
three drips.
blood drops
dry-cleaned white shirt
red, redder, reddest stain
and it spread like the ceaseless misery in Tablo’s flesh,
progressing like some sort of disease that ate away at his soul
he ran back home, glass digging into his skin from the impact
laid down on the rug and bled.
“너무많은걸 알려고하면 다쳐,” Tukutz whispered.
and that’s the story behind the stain on the rug
the now crumpled page
balled up into a miserable unfinished thought,
then thrown into the ménage of hundreds of other failures just like it.
*Trompe L'œil --> Optical illusion
*너무많은걸 알려고하면 다쳐 --> Knowing too much will only hurt you