Spilled Ink (Currently undergoing updates.)

jessiesbrain:

July 19^th, 1942

 Gentle brushstrokes danced across the surface of the once white canvas, smearing the haze of blues into greens and depicting a miniature of the salty sea. Slender tanned fingers grasped the worn wooden brush, embedding layer upon layer of colors. The fine bristles caressed the canvas and created the illusion of depth. Inspiration had been evading her for quite some time, but now in the golden sunlight of dusk the painter had found her way home. Her freckled hand relaxed against the faded stick, embellished with paint splatters, as she made her strokes longer and more deliberate. 

A cool breeze picked up, ruffling her long dark hair and tickling her bare feet. A tide of goose bumps broke out on her bare shoulders as she shivered involuntarily. In the distance, the quiet sound of footsteps shuffling down the wood planks of the dock created a comforting rhythm. Her brow furrowed in concentration as she bent closer, her grip tightened on the small brush and her dark blue eyes examined the painting. Detail had always been her least favorite aspect of painting, but it would be unforgivable to disregard it. Her slender torso pulled back, her neck craning as she inspected her work. Her nose wrinkled in distaste, she had mucked up the shading on the sails of the small white boat. A little touch of a cool gray would –

“Liadan?” Disbelief was evident in the familiar voice. Her head snapped up, her slender arm withdrew from her easel and her calculating gaze swept upwards towards the silhouette. The setting sun was illuminated behind his shadowed features, enveloping him in mists of golden sunlight. He stepped out of the shadows, and the light gave life to his features. His warm honey eyes danced in delight, his crooked smile marred only by the crease of barely visible dimples. In barely half a second she had connected the polite demeanor with the boy she had known since birth. 

“Michael!” She could barely contain her pleasure, it emanated from her soft voice as a smile crept across her face.

 “How are you?” he asked politely, but unable to keep the curiosity from creeping into his tone, “I haven’t seen you in nearly six years.. didn’t know you and your family still spent your summers here”

 “I don’t,” she paused and set her paintbrush down, “My dad wanted to spend some time with me. I’m only here for a few weeks, maybe less.”

 He nodded in understanding and she continued, “What are you doing here?”

 “I’m staying with my aunt for a couple weeks,” he was silent for a few moments as if lost in thought, “I can’t believe I bumped into you like this, how’s everything back home?”

 “As dull as ever” she smiled sadly, “How long are you going to be staying?” 

 “Depends how long my aunt can put up with me,”

 “Why didn’t you write,” her voice was quiet and deliberate.

 “It wasn’t anything personal, I suppose I just forgot” his features flushed and he shifted his weight nervously, “Did you paint that? It’s brilliant.” 

 He motioned towards the broad canvas, sincerity radiating from him. She nodded, her quiet smile growing bigger as she mumbled thanks. She swung her legs off the bench, and turned so she was directly facing him. 

 “How’s your mum and dad?” 

 “They’re alright,” he avoided her eyes, “How’s your dad?” 

 “He’s doing well; he’ll be thrilled to see you again,” she frowned, her brow knit in confusion, “I thought you hated your aunt,”

 “She isn’t exactly my favorite person,”

“Why are you…” she trailed off, her eyes softening, “Is your mum sick again?”

 “She hasn’t relapsed for two years,” his eyes were burning with intensity, “Fawning over my brother I suppose, and anything seemed better; even a few weeks with Aunt Edna,”

 He let out a hearty chuckle, and contrary to her expectations there was no hollow echo to it. His features were not etched with anger, nor his eyes hardened with jealousy. She scrutinized his gentle countenance; he did not even appear to be distressed by his mother’s favoritism. She glanced upwards, her dark blue eyes meeting his warm honey, and a smile began to crinkle across his face. She was aware that she had been staring but she couldn’t seem to look away. A moment later the spell was broken and he glanced down at his watch, a frown marring his visage. 

 “I have to go – I’m expected for dinner,” his features expressed that he was truly sorry to go and he asked earnestly if she would be there tomorrow. She grinned and assured him that she would be there. Her calculating gaze studied his loping gait as he walked away. He turned back once, his eyes immediately catching hers, his mouth curving into a small smile and then he was gone.

 She realized moments later that the lack of sunlight would hinder her painting abilities. She sighed as she folded up her easel, shoving her paints and brushes into the leather satchel at her waist and tucking her canvas under her arm. Humming merrily, she tread softly down the dusty dirt road leading up to her cottage where her father awaited her. She couldn’t help but think this was the happiest she had been in quite some time.