Short Story: The masterpiece

He was never Learnardo, nor was he Michalango, but he called himself a artist.

He sat on the garden selling his potraits for mere 5-10 bucks and earn his daily morsel. As the darkness krept he purchased the daily bread and three canvas sheets and went to his house in the slum. He kept a modest living, never earning more than a hundred per day.

Every time he passed the stationary shop, he used to see the brushes on display, shiny golden brushes. Broad brushes, thin brushes, fresco brushes and many varieties.


'One day, I will become a big painter and purchase all of them. Then I will draw better paintings for Gudiya,' he though today.

Gudiya was his latest and smallest customer who used to come and play in the garden, she liked his colorful paintings and always purchased everyday from him.

"Get me a joker tommorrow, friend, I want a joker," the ten year old had asked today.

He purchased only one costly canvases today, only one for his masterpiece, only one for Gudiya.

"I am falling short of red color," he thought, putting hands in his pocket and counting the cash he received.

It was not enough to buy a color.

'The painting must be made for her,' he thought, 'She deserves a better.'

The whole night he drew her a joker, as it dawned he looked at the joker and it was his masterpiece without the red color.

Smiling at his effort he took the painting to the park waiting for Gudiya.

The dawn turned to afternoon and afternoon turned into night, Gudiya did not turn up. Slowly it was night again, and sadly he turned to leave.

On the way back, he saw Gudiya's mother weeping, fearing the worse he asked her about Gudiya.

'Yesterday evening, Gudiya met with an accident on this very street, Doctor says her health is critical. She was running towards me excited about some joker.'

Collapsed on hearing the words, he walked slowly towards the darknened road, today he had no paintings to make, today he had no sketches to make.

'God, take me instead of her,' he prayed under his breath as the tear rolled down.

As he walked with his head hung low, thinking about the joker and Gudiya, he saw a distant white light coming closely towards him.

The loud sound of the horn echoed in his ears as a metal body of the truck banged against his skin. His body lay there on the street, all covered in his own blood. Just underneath his shirt was his masterpiece, now filled with crimson red color.

He had the color red for plently now, only no paintings to make.