He wakes up, takes a shower, eats a bowl of cereal and makes his way to the subway. He pays the toll, boards the train and heads downtown. He walks and walks until he arrives at his destination. He enters the building, pays the admission and takes the escalator up to the gallery.
He didn't come all this way to view the art. Well not the art that everyone else came to see. He couldn't tell you the difference between a Picasso and a Kandinsky, nor would he pretend to try. The gallery boasts all sorts of treasures from photography, to paintings and sculpture and those magnificent pieces that people travel across the world to admire.
He stands before a photograph. It's glass, perfectly reflects the security guard in the corner. Black hair, dark skin, deep brown eyes, pressed suit. Black shoes, white shirt, red tie with a faint splash of purple. The guard rocks back and forth on the heal of his foot, not having any idea that the surveillant is being surveyed.
The shades of green, blue and white swirl into each other and out again. He's standing far too close to see this incredible work. He views the boys mother dragging her child by his tiny hand, his feet scrape along the floor. The squealing is piercing, much like his young voice. His mother stops and stares at her son. The boy looks into those dark eyes and the demon growls. The noise is deafening. So loud that his ears bleed, drops of blood drip down his neck. The world stops momentarily with an eerie silence.
He stares at the window into the courtyard. Stunning trees and pathways, normally give calm to those around. The glass, slightly mirrored helps him view the couple fighting behind him. His position provides perfect audio. The reflection gives a warped perception of their faces much like the paintings that surround him. Their heavy words fuel the burning flames. The heat singes his face, taking the life out of him and everyone around. They stand there, ignorant of the destruction that they have caused.
She struts with the confidence of a supermodel, the slender legs and gorgeous face to match. She moves towards him pausing to admire the sculpture. The plaque echos the creases in her white dress. As she breathes, the shadows play games with his imagination. Her cotton dress weaves its way around the room gently brushing up against his face. Her scent almost causing him to lose balance...