One Night

Chapter Thirty Seven

Alara

The bristles of my brush splay across the white sheet. What was a brown blob a little while ago is now forming and becoming what I had imagined in my head.

It makes my heart fizzle with excitement—to know what I am capable of outside of running and stealing and surviving.

Looking back at me is my mothers face. Even though it's been far too long since I have seen her beautiful, aging face, I still remember it as clear as the moment I hugged her goodbye.

There was such pain in her expression, in her eyes, and I tried to capture that in the lines that I trace across the sheet.

In my painting, the top of her head is cut open and images leak out of her like visions of the life she lived; the life we lived, and will likely have to go back to. That is, if we make it back successfully.

My eyes water as I take a very fine brush and paint in the details of our life; the cracks left on our walls, the bucket sitting beside piles of unwashed dishes. I also try to paint what I imagine would go through my mothers mind in the moments where she wasn't trying to sleep away her sadness.

I wish I knew more about her past; about what lead her to the life we had. A tear slips down my cheek. I don't want to go back to that.

ZIIIINGGG!!

A loud buzzer goes off multiple times, and then one of the judges—identifiable today by the badges they wear on their white uniforms—announces and gestures that we must step away.

Everyone drops what they are doing and steps back. I quickly fill in the blank space so that it does not look unfinished.

As I put my brush down, another judge comes to me, shaking his head, and placed a red dot on the top right corner of my painting.

I frown at him. "What does this mean?"

He tries to explain but I don't understand it. Only his gestures, when he makes a cross sign with his arms, makes me realise that I've been . . . I've been disqualified.

"What? No. I was just—it was just a tiny white spot. I can't—you can't—" Can he? "Please." I press my palms together, begging with my eyes.

He gives me a sad smile, pats my arm and walks away. I stare at the red dot. It seems to become bigger and bigger, until all I can see is red. Everywhere.

My breathing shakes. I try to turn, try to look around but all I can see is failure. I've failed. I've killed any chance I had of winning.

When reality finally comes back, I see a few other contestants looking at me sadly. This—It's not fair. I didn't know about the disqualification rule.

The paint hasn't even dried yet, and I have already lost everything. A cage closes around my heart, tightening and squeezing until it's too painful to exist.

My feet run before my brain can process any further. My shoes clap against the strange floor texture in this area, a stone-like substance.

I run until I am forced to slow down because the tears in my eyes are stopping me from seeing.

Tanaffasi! I need to breath.

As I am wiping my cheeks, strong hands grab me. My thoughts immediately go to that man on his motorbike, who tried to trap me in his store.

I pull back, but he keeps his hands locked on me. I look up. Zayen's talking to me but I don't want to hear him.

Seeing his face, the heartbreak that creases his expression, makes me want to run further. To run until I escape this land and find nothing but water and—"Alara." He is taking deep breaths. Something I wish I was capable of right now.