Page 2 of Oracles Always Win

Howmuch time hadIlost to fantasizing about that imaginary guy sinceI’dfirst painted him?

Hours, for sure.Hopefullynot days or weeks.

Isucked in a deep, bracing breath, then turned toward the canvas.

Itwasn't the man.

“ThankPicassofor small mercies,”Imurmured asIstepped closer.

Thecanvas was covered in black with only a couple of small white clumps of paint to break up the monotony.Thebright cone-like blobs looked like headlights on a vehicle.Thesmaller, streaky organic shapes might be puddles reflecting those lights.

WhywouldIpaint something like that?Whatwas my brain trying to tell me?Whatkind of hidden anxiety was it trying to work through that this was how it manifested?

Ishould paint over it—cover it in white, bury it under something normal—butIcouldn't.JustlikeIcouldn't paint over any of the others.Notright away, anyway.Likeeverything else about these paintings, my reluctance was a mystery to me.Itwas like my brain had an unpredictable internal clock with a silent ticking countdown to when one of my black-and-white eyesores could be destroyed.Theexpiry date on each of the paintings was different.Thefirst oneI'dpainted, for example, was still hidden under my bed.Icouldn’t destroy it.Notyet.

Ihad no idea why.

Butmaybe this time it would be different.

Iscowled at the painting.

“Yes.Ican do it.”Inodded asIgave myself a pep talk. “Thistimewillbe different.Absolutely.It’llbe so freaking easy.”

Ihad to get rid of it.Iwanted to get rid of them all, butI'dbe happy to start with one.Therewas no good reason to hang on to something so… so… ridiculously ugly.Isqueezed an enormous glob of white onto my palette.

Assoon asIbrought the white-laden paintbrush close to the canvas, my fingers clenched, and my muscles seized.Igritted my teeth to fight through the strange need to preserve this artistic monstrosity, but my body justwould not cooperate.Nomatter how muchItried, the brush would not get any closer to the canvas.

"Youugly shitting shit,"Ishouted at the painting asIflung the paintbrush across the room.Ithit the far wall, spattering white paint over the faded floral wallpaper before dropping unceremoniously to the hideous royal blue carpet.

Iscreamed, forcing every bit of my anger and frustration into it.

Unfortunately, my screams didn’t help one little bit.

Istared at the splattered paint untilIblinked and became awareI’dlost another stretch of time.Atleast half an hour or more.Iglanced around for another hideous work of art but didn’t find anything.ThankMonetfor that.Onepossessed painting session a night was more than enough.

Angerat this whole situation built inside me again untilIpierced the quiet with another scream.Andthen another.

Theinn didn’t have a single room rented soIcould make all the noiseIwanted.Beingcompletely vacant wasn’t something most inn owners would be happy about, butI’dalways been a little different from other people.

Iheaved a defeated sigh and let my shoulders drop as my mind circled back to the muffled shout that'd woken me from my sleep painting.Thesound of hooves hitting the ground still clopped through my mind.HadIimagined it?Thatwould be good, right?ThenI'donly have the sleep-painting problem, not the sleep-painting problemandhallucinations about horse/man creatures too.

Iglanced out the window.

“There’snothing there,Jake,”Iwhispered, wishingIsounded a little more confident. “Ofcourse there isn’t.”

Theroiling in my stomach didn’t calm like it should have.

Isquinted into the darkness.Stillnothing.So…Wasit never there?Orwas the creature thing—definitely a horse!—just gone?

Nomatter howIclung to the idea of it being a horse, my brain refused to mollycoddle me, bringing up a sharp image of exactly whatI'dseen afterIwas jolted awake.Iclearly remembered four legs like a horse.Thatwas okay.Butthen there were two arms like a human—which, okay, those might have belonged to a rider, right?Butwhat about the beast's head?IfIdidn’t know better,I’dswear the human-ish torso had replaced it instead.

ExceptIdid know better.Andthat wasn’t possible.

Irubbed my forehead asIsearched my memory for the horse’s stupid head.Itmust have been hidden behind the man’s naked torso… and his head, with his long billowing blond hair.Thathair was something else.Maybethat’s whyIcouldn’t remember the horse’s head.Therider’s hair had totally distracted me since it was like a video clip from a shampoo commercial.

Butwhat about the rider’s legs?

“Fuck.”