perils with writing and whatnot
This post is from a writing prompt I found at Writing.Com. I’m not sure how long this story is going to be yet. Obviously more than one post’s worth though. 😛
Ruth opened the glass door of the gallery and walked in. Once on the welcome rug, she stomped her feet in an attempt to rid her shoes of the packed snow that was clinging to the soles. She didn’t really care if it was bleak outside. She loved this art gallery and nothing short of work or time of day would realistically stop her from visiting the masterpieces.
Her trip always took the same path. First, she would look at some of the sculptures, her favorites being done by Barye, Epstein, Rodin and Dalou. As sculptures go, she had particular tastes so that even with this group of artists, there’d only be one or two works of a sculptor she’d like. Still, what she liked she wanted to gaze upon. Second, she’d go through the hall with the Monet paintings on the wall and on easels. She adored his impressionistic watercolors. Ruth could sit for hours looking at The Studio Boat. Her third stop would be with Picasso.
As she strolled along the wall of paintings, Ruth stopped at the ones she cherished most, studying the composition, color, and brush strokes. It thrilled her to daydream about where the painter might have been when he worked on Absinthe Drinker or Boy with a Pipe.
When she got to his painting, Melancoly Woman, she gasped in horror. Someone had hung the painting upside down. “Oh, my God!” She hurried to the office of the curator.
When she knocked on the office door, she heard a woman answer, “One moment, please.”
She finally opened the door and came out into the hall. “May I help you?”
Noticing the name tag on the woman’s teal-colored blazer, Ruth replied, “Ms. Strong, I think someone is unlawfully moving some paintings — at least one of them.”
Ms. Strong stared at Ruth as if she might have two head. “What are you talking about?”
“Let me show you,” she said as she hurried along down the hall in front of the curator.
Once they were in the corridor of the Picasso exhibit, Ruth pointed to the Melancoly Woman painting. Ms. Strong, uncontrollably put her hands to her mouth in astonishment.
“Oh my God!” She ventured closed to the masterpiece.
“Yep, that’s exactly what I said,” Ruth replied.
“Why would anyone do this?” Ms. Strong said to no one in particular. She peeked behind the painting. Whoever had turned it upside down somehow switched the wires that held up the canvas as well.
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