A/N: Sorry guys, this has not been edited. I wrote it for my English class so I'll try to update my (probably) numerous grammar mistakes. Thanks for reading <3 end of A/N
I woke up last night to the sound of quiet footsteps beneath my wall. The night watchman passed below, his light bouncing off shiny gilt frames. I watched him leave, his light soon disappearing around a corner. More footsteps approached. Interested, I looked downward and found myself staring into the eyes of a burglar. He wore all black, his face covered by a mask. His eyes twinkled with avarice as he looked upon my ancient, cracked canvas. At this moment, I wished for the power of speech, to screech and yell for the night watchman. I felt myself lifted and then dropped into the thief’s bag, everything became dark and I felt more helpless than ever. The world bounced and spun, I felt myself jostled carelessly. This burglar was inexperienced, he treated me badly and I could feel one of the ancient chips of paint which clung to my canvas fall into the bottom of the bag. I’m a two million dollar piece of art for heaven’s sake, this moron could render me worthless. I feel myself placed onto a soft surface, an engine starts and I assume I must be resting on the back seat of a car.
The journey is long and I feel myself sliding back and forth on the seat. What an absolute fool this man is. After what feels like hours, the vehicle stops and I hear the door open. Footsteps crunch and I feel a cold breeze gust through me as the door is opened. My kidnapper crunches up what I can only assume is a driveway. A door creaks open and I hear excited voices. “Rob! Is that you?”
“He’s back? That was fast.”
“Is it Rob?”
The man carrying me, Rob I assume. Answers gruffly. “I got it boys.”
Hurried footsteps come to greet us. I feel myself pulled from the bag and find myself staring at three men. The one on the left is dressed in tattered denim, a bandana clings to his bald head, soaked with sweat. The man in the middle is dressed in a tweed suit with a tasteful tie hanging from his neck. He is young, in his twenties. His grey eyes twinkle with delight as he looks upon my surface. The man to to the right is short, he wears all black and his long hair is carelessly pulled back by a leather strap. His eyes are hidden behind dark, round glasses. In his right hand glints a revolver.
The short man surveys Rob, looking him up and down. His voice squeaks, unexpectedly high pitched. “Were you followed?”
“Of course not, I wouldn’t be here otherwise. You worry too much Hank, calm yourself.” Says Rob disdainfully. He hands me to the man in the suit. “Well Tom, what do you think? Is it the real deal?”
Tom replies with a cultured, Oxford accent as he stares at me. “It looks almost perfect.”
“Almost?” Says hank, sounding concerned.
Tom points to the fresh chip in my paint. “There’s a chip here you see? In the archive photos, there is no chip. I’ll have to do some carbon testing to make absolutely sure we haven’t got a fake.”
Tom recedes to a study, bringing me with him while the other men take part in the discussion of what they’ll do with their share of the profits. Before we move out of earshot, I hear Rob animatedly discussing the gold plated Lamborghini he would buy. Tom sets me gently on the table. I like him, he handles me gently like the multi-million dollar piece of art I am. He sits across from me and caresses my surface with his eyes, taking in every detail. “Absolutely beautiful.” He murmurs under his breath. “You look almost alive.” I accept the irony of this statement with a mental chuckle. I could grow to like this man if he wasn’t involved in a plot to steal me. He stands and walks to a cupboard which he draws a long strand of silk from. Draping the silk gently over me, he begins to wrap me in the soft substance. “We’re going on a little trip you and I.”
Now I’ve been carbon dated several times in my considerable lifetime and I’m absolutely sure this wasn’t the way to go about doing it. I braced myself for the worse, although what I could possibly do I have no idea. I felt myself lifted once again. We were moving. A door closed and gravel crunched. Tom was running now, his breathing labored. A car door opened quietly and I felt myself resting on tom’s lap. The door closed and an engine coughed. This was exciting, although I thought the other three men might be peeved at their partner’s desertion. The engine coughed again and I found myself praying for it to start. Now muffled voices could be heard. A shout sounded just as the engine started. Tom whooped and the vehicle roared forwards at a speed which I calculated to be quite faster than allowed by law. Tom was breathing hard and a few minutes of driving later, I heard him curse loudly. A gunshot sounded and glass tinkled. Another shot rang out and the car swerved. There was a loud crash and I suddenly found myself airborne. The air rushed past and I heard an audible explosion.
Birds sang and water trickled in the background. Wind rustled in the trees and sunlight beamed into my eyes. Everything was hazy. A small fox stepped lightly past, sniffing my canvas. A small stick protruded from a hole in me and I cringed, seeing the exquisitely painted face of a beautiful woman punctured by a branch.
The seasons passed, rain soaked me and leaves covered me. Snow covered the leaves and hid me from daylight. In the spring, a flower grew through the hole in me and shone radiantly each morning as the dew reflected the sun off it’s rich pedals. Birds gathered the strands from my canvas to build their nests and I decomposed slowly. My conscious spread into the earth and my scattered mind lost itself amongst the roots of a great gnarled oak tree.
