Aya withdrew quickly at the dreadful sight as though it was a snake trying to strike out at her. But it wasn’t the sight she was reeling back from. Rather the memories. Ages old memories she thought she had forgotten about.
Such as the painting that rattled in her old home. She couldn’t remember the details of the painting, whether it was a portrait or a landscape. But she did remember the monster that burst out of it, tackling her to the ground. And she remembers screaming and flailing for help. For help that will never come. Eventually she escaped under her own power.
And yet, she couldn’t go through that horror again. She couldn’t place herself in that danger again. She was defenseless, almost as helpless as her eleven years old self. So she backed away from the painting, and the threatening seeping paint.
Aya refuse to acknowledge the paint now. She refused give it a closer look. She refused be shaken any further and let her curiosity rules her. No, she’ll take her leave now.
Perhaps this was another nightmare of hers. Soon she’ll wake up. She has to. The alternate are almost unbearable to think of. So she turned around and walked away quickly.
She barely noticed the subtle dimming of the light, still drowning in her memories as she walked, the clicking sound of her heels follows her.
However she did notice the lack of people. Where there were once a couple observing the Reserved Seat, and a young man softly criticizing the statutes, all three were gone, as though they were never there.
Surely it hasn’t been that long since she stared at the painting. Surely there would be someone walking around. Someone to replace the missing people. It couldn’t be closing time already. It was only early afternoon. But then why are the light dimmed? A small sense of panic rouse up again, but Aya ruthlessly squashed it down.
She can still get away. She told herself. All she had to do is get downstairs and leave through the front door. There was no need to panic. She had survived much worst. And perhaps, she’ll wake up instead. This was far too…surrealist, to be real. Then again, that what she had thought all those years ago.
‘No, focus.’ She told herself as she climbed down the stairs, quickly but mindful of her steps.
There was still no one around. Not even at the information desk.
Abandoning all pretenses, Aya rushed to the door. It was locked. It couldn’t be. She became more forceful in rattling the doorknob and push against it. It still won’t open. It needs a key.
The information desk of course. She rushed back to behind the counter, her hands flinging drawers open searching for a key, or a weapon, if she need one. But there was none.
Another rising panic tries to surface. But she forced herself to ignore it again. There is a way out. She just have to find it.
An idle thought drift back to the Fabricated World’s seeping paint. But she resists that idea. The more logical side point out that perhaps a set of key was in some backroom of the gallery. Possibly on the first floor.
Still she doesn’t remember seeing an employee only room. But then her only other choice was to retreat back to the Fabricated World painting. And she could not bring herself to do so.
With great reluctance, she stepped away from the information desk and headed toward the first room of the gallery.
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