The Painting

Kalama

I have been working for Joyce for almost 3 years now, right after college. Didn’t want to work for dad, even if it was as his accountant. Didn’t like to help in the shop. 

My dad's blacksmith shop is well known far and wide. Everyone in the land knows he is the best. People come to him for various things, like gates, agricultural implements, but he is most famous for the weapons he makes. 

The primary reason I don’t like to help in the shop are the fire pits he has in his working shop.

There is a big forge in the middle of the workshop, with huge flames coming out of it every time he blows air in to keep the fire going and on temperature.

I’m afraid of fire, I always have been afraid of it.

Fire is unpredictable and not to mention destructive. Also, weird things happen whenever I’m around the fires. The flames seem to follow me every time I walk past them. Like I’m some fire magnet and I never seem to be aware of the heat from the flames.

Shrugging the weird feeling I get from thinking about fire, I walk to the backroom of the gallery. I needed to unpack the boxes that had arrived yesterday with the art pieces and paintings for the exhibition next week.

While I’m unpacking, I remember that I needed to ask Joyce if I could use the empty room upstairs to give art lessons. While I’m calling Joyce from the phone in the back, I’m trying to figure out how to ask her for this favour.

“Yes Kalama, something wrong with the pieces or the paintings?” She asks, voice quivering. “No Joyce, nothing amiss with the pieces or paintings. I’m calling because I wanted to ask you, perhaps if you are not using the space upstairs, I could use it for painting lessons?” I tried to make my voice extra sweet.

Taking her time to answer me, she finally said. “You know what Kalama, If you promise to do everything yourself and your classes won’t bother me, then I see no problem why you can not use it to give painting lessons.” 

Trying not to squeal in happiness at Joyce saying yes gushed “Thank you, thank you so much Joyce. And I promise I’ll take care of everything myself.” Ending the call, I made my little dance of victory. If anyone saw me, they would think I was having a seizure.

“Okay Kalama back to unpacking.” I chide myself. Sighing, I went back to the boxes. I had about 3 more boxes to unpack and add the pieces and painting to the catalogue. Opening the first box, I took out a painting with a beautiful gilded frame with heavy ornaments.

Turning the painting over, I saw a majestic Phoenix surrounded by fire, gorgeous flames engulfing the creature, like they were embracing it.

The flames seemed to dance before my eyes. 

I don’t know what came over me, but I had a sudden urge to touch it. Stretching my hand and touching the Phoenix, I froze and felt pain like I never had felt before. As if they set my entire body on fire.

I couldn’t scream, I couldn’t move, I just stood there, feeling the fire consuming me. 

Closing my eyes, I saw a little girl standing close to where I was standing. She had her eyes closed and her mouth was open, frozen mid scream. Just like I was.  I wanted to go to her and help her, but I couldn’t move.

Suddenly I heard a beautiful voice, no, beautiful could not describe this voice, it was more than beautiful; it made me feel joyous and sad at the same time. As if it was pure love, but also pure madness.

“Kalama stop fighting your gift, embrace it. Embrace it now or it will consume you.” I tried to understand what the voice was saying. What gift was it talking about? The pain intensified,  making my body strain even more.

The voice was screaming at me now. “Embrace your gift. Now, Kalama, now!”

Feeling something scorching my heart, I finally let go of the painting, I sagged to the floor and all went black.

Waking up on the couch in Joyce’s office, I was aching all over. I couldn’t open my eyes. Faintly in the distance I could hear someone calling my name. I shuddered, thinking that the feeling of burning would swallow me again.

Trying to keep the voice out of my head, I squeezed my eyes shut.

Someone was touching me, I felt a light touch on my forehead. A woman's voice was calling me, I could hear the urgency in her voice. “Kalama, wake up, please wake up.  Wake up Kalama.”

My brain was sluggishly restarting. To me, the voice sounded very much like my mom’s voice. But it sounded worried. Why would she be here at my work?  Last time I spoke to mom was this morning at her office.

Trying to make my brain work faster, I focus on an unfamiliar sound, a beeping sound of some sort. Why were there beeping sounds at the gallery?

Slowly comprehension is dawning on me. I can’t possibly be on a couch in Joyce’s office, because there wasn’t any. Where was I then? The beeping sounds were there again. Like they were keeping some rhythm.

I’m lying in a hospital bed!

There was the soft touch again on my forehead and then on top of my head. I feel some soft lips on my forehead and hear someone sniffling. Why are people crying? Am I dying?

Trying to move my arm or my leg. They seem made of lead. I can’t move them. I try to open my eyes again; it is painful, but I need to see who was touching me and who was crying.

I can barely open them, I see one of my little sisters sitting in a chair in front of me. And wiping away tears. I want to tell her I’m okay. I’m in a lot of pain, but I’m here.

My mouth feels dry and my throat raw. Raw as if I was screaming on top of my longs. I remember I tried to scream when I felt the burning, but I can’t remember hearing myself scream.

Again I try to speak, to call out my sister’s name. “......” I can hear myself grunting softly, barely a whisper. I’m not giving up. I try to wiggle my toes this time.

I can move my big toes, I can move my big toes! Relief washes over me as I keep moving my toes.

“Kalama can you hear me? Please open your eyes, Kalama!” This time I recognised the voice, it was Remy’s voice. It sounded broken and fading. The darkness pulled me under again.

I’m feeling something warm on my face. No, please not again, not the flames again. But the warm feeling stayed warm and did not become hotter. It was nice, when I realized that it wasn’t hot burning flames.

Now that my brain is working better, I can make out that the warmth that I was feeling is sunshine on my face. I try to move my hands again, and this time I could move them, just a little. Still, they felt like lead, but I could move them.

Opening my eyes slowly, I see Remy sleeping on the chair next to me with his head and half his torso on the bed. I want to run my fingers through his hair so badly. To touch him, to let him know I’m awake.

Looking at my hand, I’m stunned to see that I do not have any burn marks, none. But the flames licking at my body felt so real, it was agonizingly painful. I kept looking at my hands, fingers, arms, nothing. Not one blister, no blackened skin. How was this possible? 

Then what happened to me?

I felt those flames; I felt them consuming me. I remember that there was this voice, the beautiful voice. Telling me to embrace the flames, to embrace the fire. It said something else too. 

I shiver all over just thinking about that part. It can not be true, and I can not tell anyone what happened. They will never believe me. And that little girl, who was she?

One thing I was sure of, I will never embrace the fire, even if it’s my gift.