aesthete

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For Karl, the beginning of a season also meant a new beginning. Everything had changed, would change as time went on, but so that you knew exactly what was happening. Even if you already knew roughly what to expect, each time was exciting and different from the last time. The smell, which changed with the change of the season, was familiar like meeting an old friend and still exciting as if you had to get to know him again because so much time had passed. 

The beginning of spring brought him strength and helped him on his usually heavy legs. Everyone dealt with the change differently. Some welcomed the sun and the warmth with a radiant smile, while others just walked cautiously toward the change. In Karl's case, it was a good day. Matching the smell of the blooming plant life and the warm sun beating down on the streets, he had encountered a day today where his head didn't feel immensely heavy.

Perhaps it was also due to the circumstances of today because when Karl now struggled among the people from the subway station, he was once again aware of what a new world he was facing today. With the music that warbled from his headphones into his ears, the vast museum building rose up in front of him, just across the street.

At that moment, he was able to block out everything around him. He ignored the people pushing past him on the sidewalk and brushing his backpack with their shoulders. And he ignored the honking and the loud noises of the engines that the cars and motorcycles made on the streets.

As spring wind gently swept over the land and the blossoming cherry trees and trimmed bushes around it, the museum glowed. With its colorful meadows and peculiar outdated architectural style, the museum stood out strikingly in the meantime of the modern city. It was like a shining entrance to a new world. There he would encounter smells and objects from bygone times. Things that touched the hearts of the viewer even after decades or centuries. With a smile, he walked towards the entrance, on the way which he first had to overcome a wide stone staircase.

It was the first time that he entered this museum as an employee. Karl had already visited the museum several times, running around in the corridors for hours and getting lost when looking at the huge paintings. However, there had never been enough time for him to explore the whole museum. Perhaps, because it seemed so impossible due to its size, that would never be the case. Works of art were usually so littered with details and dedication that an information board next to them would not be enough to inform the viewer sufficiently.

Only the artist would probably be the person who would know best about it. The one who would understand every detail, every thought process behind it, and could explain it sufficiently to the viewer. But maybe that wasn't really the case, because only the work of art held the knowledge of its details, the feelings that concerned the artist at that moment, and the memory of each brush stroke on the canvas or each chisel stroke.

If only works of art could talk, Karl wondered, would they explain to the viewer every secret that lay behind their colorful facades or fine material?

Karl had been an art student for about a year and had been forced by his university to move to this city. It had been hard to leave his old home behind, but the experiences he had made since then had been priceless. The part-time jobs were time-consuming and tedious, but they had been enough to pay for his life in the big city. Now, however, with the start of a new semester, fees and his life, in general, had become more expensive.

For many moments he had thought it would not be possible to finance everything further, but then a small advertisement on the internet had attracted his interest. Due to past attempted burglaries, the local museum was looking for someone to guard it at night. After a bit, Karl had found out that this museum was plagued by break-ins at night. No one had any idea how exhibits could suddenly disappear, because no person had ever been spotted on the cameras.

Sun, Moon and Stars // KarlnapityWhere stories live. Discover now