Triptych – Love, Loyalty, Lust

My on and off again project is finally complete!

For the full image I wanted a little bit of scenery in each panel:

Triptych Clip 1

For Love, it’s ruins from a war-torn world. Fighting to keep what little you have.

Triptych Clip 2

For Loyalty, it’s an ice crystal; a place and oath frozen in time.

Triptych Clip 3

And for Lust, it’s a glowing city – grime sticking in the shadows beneath it’s beautiful image.

Triptych Websize

(Click to see full image.)

Fakes And Liars – Incomplete

Blood drips onto the floor from the counter top steadily, a rushing army of red. What doesn’t join the growing puddle clings to the edge in little diluted droplets; afraid to fall and be like all the other bloodied globules. Filling the minute crevices of the linoleum floor; the blood pools. And the flooring is no better than the coward droplets. It was made to look and feel like wooden panels, each separate ‘piece’ a different shade – deep burgundy, roasted brown, Spanish orange – but essentially, it’s a liar.

This is what the world is made out of: the cowards, the liars and the heroes. The liars command the heroes with tricks and schemes while the heroes protect the cowards, and the cowards continue the cycle, creating the heroes and the liars. It’s a perfect system, self-sustaining and everyone is happy. That is, until natural chaos occurs, disrupting the system, ending the cycle – in this case it is a beast of a creature, swooping in to lick away the cowards before moving in to lap at the puddle.

I shoo away the great beast with the cotton flag of claim, and begin wiping up the mess with a paper towel. It’s a larger spill than I anticipated the red absorbing into the thick white sheets quick and I have to rush to get another stack of sheets before the beast returns. Turning my back however was the worse decision to make with the great beast still looming at the edge of the kitchen. With slobbering jowls it nicks away the slab of flesh when my eyes are turned and it gleefully absconds with its victory out the back door into the backyard. Hanging my head with a sigh, my lips mutter in utter defeat,

Well, dinner is officially ruined.”

My well-worn cliché is unheard by all but myself, who only scoffs at the words and knows better that dinner was ruined well before the dog ran away with the main course. I clean up the rest of the blood and mess with thick dry and wet sheets, interchangeably, and then toss the refuse into the silver sheened bin at the refrigerators’ side.

I could’ve handled this all better, I foolhardidly muse inwards, dragging the cutting board and bloodied knife into the sink with a disruptive clamor. Turning to the still lit stove, I move the simmering pot of vegetables off the burner and to the back before shutting off the flame.

It all boiled over.

Not the vegetables, mind you, but the argument.

I soon move my attention past the cluttered granite countertops and to the set glass dinner table. Placed above cream-colored placemats are the large empty dishes awaiting the hot servings that will never come now. They’re real bone china, I think. Or at least that was what the seller indicated by the stamp below their polished faces. Plain of décor save for a deep blue band around the outer edge, I thought they were lovely when I found them. Pearl white, they remind me of a full moon on a navy blue midnight.

Set around these plates are the silver utensils, clean- relatively, save for water spots I had tried to wipe off but gave up when she walked in through the front door. Walking to the table, I blow out the centerpieces candle, the little flame’s life so beautiful but tragically useless now.

I could’ve handled this better, it repeats in my head but now I’m a little angry at this. Hindsight makes a fool of all of us, but only shows up when the damage is done. Where are you when I need your help?

It doesn’t matter now though, now that she’s left me. I reach for an empty wine glass and snatch the previously uncorked bottle on passing as I wander to the living room. My red-painted toenails glimmer under the yellow studio lights, glaring over mounted paintings of scenic mindscapes. She loved art. I wonder grimly if she’ll ask for these back, hoping I could at least keep a few of them. But maybe I’ve only come to enjoy them because of her, because of how she makes me feel. Keeping them would surely incite memories of her overtime, and eventually I’ll hate remembering her. For now, they ease my subtle loneliness.

I pad over the fake wooden floor and plop down on the fake leather sofa, a burgundy red and switch on the TV out of pure habit. I hate watching the flat screen. There was never anything on TV anymore that’d I’d watch. Nostalgia brings me to my favorite shows, replaying across my mind and I smile while I pour myself a half-glass of wine.

The end has come,” says the thick set American woman, her brown hair a wild bun on the back of her head. A mass of others sit and watch her, fear in each set of eyes, seen easily even over the shoddy film and recording. I switch the channel with a snap of my finger, annoyed at the seriousness and find myself on a 24 hour news channel from some other country, the foreign voices a lot easier on my mind than the woman from before.

I drink and watch the poorly typed translations flicker at the footer, a full minute off from the voices. It’s unintelligible and wrought in fear, coupled with visions of explosions and dismembered blackened bodies hiding in shadows. Women, children and men, all cry into the camera for help and for a second it puts my troubles into perspective. That is until I realize I’ve seen this before, the same video feed, the same shuddering faces. I think I’ve seen it a month before. The date at the upper left corner of the screen tells me it’s all another lie.

Snapping off the TV I drain my glass and pour myself another.

A short (and unfinished) story I began sometime ago for whatever reasons. I like the theme I was going with: red, the end of things, and fakes. Makes me wonder if I did it on purpose without realizing it. Happy accidents, I suppose!