“Hey.”
Derek jumped. He was alone in an art gallery, admiring the various portraits, or at least pretending to while he was checking his phone. There had been a school group, but they’d moved on. Even the docents had gone off somewhere on museum business. Yet he’d definitely heard someone calling out. “Excuse me?” he ventured.
“You,” said the voice. It came from behind him. Derek turned slowly. The only thing behind him at that moment was the plain white wall, and the Van Gogh. He didn’t remember which one it was, and he was too bewildered at the moment to read the little explanatory tag pinned up beside the painting. What he did know, at that moment, was that the painting had just spoken to him.
“All right,” said Derek, “What’s the trick? Hidden mic, right? Sam, is this you? You pay one of the people here or what?”
“No, it isn’t Sam, you man of little intelligence,” the painting said. “I’m only engaging in this conversation because you were the only one that came within earshot and I’ve finally reached the absolute peak of ennui. Now, don’t you want to know?”
A chill ran right up Derek’s back and he felt his hair go all up on end. “K-know what?”
“About the ear,” the painting hissed. “It’s what everyone wants to know, isn't it? Wouldn’t you like to know the real story? Why I really did it? Imagine! You could be the first one to really know.”
“But … but how do you-” Derek began.
For the first time the figure in the painting turned and fixed its eyes straight on the shaking Derek. Its mouth moved under the protective glass surface. “How do you think?”
Derek backed away so fast he nearly fell over himself, then he ran shrieking. The figure in the painting shrugged. “Oh well. Another time.”
Inspired by
‘s prompt: write about a painting.
CLASSIC (art)
"....you man of little intelligence...". I'm modifying that slightly for future usage.