Standing in the Flames
Posted in Fiction on December 13th, 2012 by Annabelle – 7 CommentsIt pressed on Michael from the moment he walked in the gallery door. The last exhibition of Itu experiential art, and it was packed, but the crush of humanity was hardly more than a thread against the overwhelming presence of the art. The almost tangible buzz made him stumble and apologize to a woman who barely knew he was there. A pickpocket’s dream, if only there were earplugs for the mind.
Michael looked out over the swimming room and saw him. A slouched figure, strangely alone, in front of a jangling, twisting work in the corner. He closed his eyes, then pushed his way across, deliberately avoiding looking at the other man. He fixed his gaze thoughtfully on a corner of the frame, trying not to see the art itself, and spoke.
“I was afraid you’d be here.”
A sharp laugh, and a twitch of the hand. “You did say you wanted to say goodbye.”
“This isn’t what I meant.” He slanted his eyes left. “You look terrible.” It was true. Lucien was gaunt and jittery, unshaven. Worse, the same consuming aura that radiated from the art seemed to spark from his skin.