The Missing Bird

[bowtimeandspace]

There was a newspaper held in mid air and on it, a picture of a painting. It was a painting that was on the front page of every newspaper that day, and had been for days before.

Because this painting had changed.

'An Experiment on a Bird in the Air Pump', it had written under the photograph of the painting. But there was no bird in the painting,

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[thenightstar]

All over the gallery, people were gazing at painting after painting. They stood and marvelled over brush strokes and use of colour, commenting quietly amongst themselves before they moved on to the next artwork. But for one visitor, there was something far more fascinating to watch

[bowtimeandspace]

He walked through the galleries, past so many pictures that he had stories about, most of which true. Probably.

There was purpose in his footsteps, though, and he was heading to a specific room. A specific painting.

It was clear to see when he neared it; spaces that usually were barely occupied, were now full of people, all queuing to see a painting that would so often be passed by.

The Doctor looked, stepping up to the barrier that had been placed in front of the painting. He looked at it, standing a little closer than he might need, or than might have been deemed appropriate.

He frowned.

"It's the same painting," he said to himself.

[thenightstar]

One thing that was common of the visitors was their pace. They ambled around the gallery at a leisurely pace, respectfully quiet and enjoying their viewings. But when a man strode through with a purposeful gait, it quickly caught the girl's eye. She turned her head to see a gangly man in tweed pass by, her eyes following him as he crossed the gallery.

She stood silently amongst the roaming humans, staring at the doorway the man had just stepped through.

For she had just set eyes upon her father for the first time in many, many years.

[bowtimeandspace]

"The same paint..." the Doctor spoke again, talking to himself as he looked at the painting, tilting his head to the side as though the action might suddenly make everything clear.

It didn't.

He looked upright again, and turned his head from side to side before back at the painting. Slowly, step by step, he moved backwards, walking into at least two people in the process. They didn't even argue, they were all too busy looking at the mysterious painting.

And that's when it struck him.

They were all looking in the wrong places.