After the end

“There is no real ending. It’s just the place where you stop the story.” ― Frank Herbert

The art of pain is life. It adorns every being’s journey in a variety of emotional or physical ways. However, the decision to suffer lies within, for no one can escape the clutches of pain in this life. Maybe pain is something we are all destined to experience and endure, just to end up six feet beneath the ground with a bunch of memories and people leaving flowers for you. Loosing someone you never had is one of the worst pains to encounter. All you have left are imaginings, which cause you to spend many nights restlessly lying in bed and yearning a way out. It felt like a curse to Achilles, feeling everything so deeply without ever having properly met Khali, the one whom his soul ached for. The one who changed his perspective of life and what it meant to be something. She withered away in front of everyone, and he cursed those who selfishly looked away, so that they knew how she felt. He cursed the sense of hopelessness she felt in her last moment, he cursed her dark thoughts that made her do it, and he cursed himself for feeling the same way. Khali’s art gave the impression that he was amongst the beating hearts of other artists, guiding his own into the void she had left behind. He fell in love with someone who no longer existed and that was the real tragedy. He loved her. He loved her with his soul. She taught him the essence of pain.

Pain, was a storm that the soul created, a symphony of happiness and hatred. A piece of ache that settled deep within, an unspoken weight that laced itself with the corridors of the mind.

Time continued to pass as did the feeling of pain in Achilles heart. It visited him every time thoughts of her surfaced, and whenever he encountered one of her paintings displayed by the Academy. Graham donated them to Khali’s former school, and the National Gallery wanted to exhibit her final painting since they were interested in her work. Similar to Vincent van Gogh, following her terrible passing, her art also gained attention, and the world was beginning to learn about another artist who passed away. She had done it. Her art was now talked about in every news article and mentioned in academic works. Crowds of viewers visited the places that held her works and her art was finally having an impact in the world. Achilles painting of Khali had rested in the attic for a prolonged stretch, a canvas infused with perceptions and uncertainty. Its presence lingered like a question mark in his thoughts. One evening, fuelled by a mix of emotions, he watched the flames consume the canvas, releasing the weight of what was and what might have been. He set it ablaze, along with the rest of his work. Standing in front of the flickering flames, he watched her join his side and they both settled in a comfortable silence watching the flames crawling up each piece, turning everything into ash. Time continued to pass, Achilles never fell in love again. In the end, all artists meet the same fate eventually.