Never Ending, Never standing Still

It is Venice Italy, a city of thousands, filled with love and culture. A culture filled with love and honor. A city now burdened with sadness because of Estella Lenore. A woman who sought to paint like the greats, but now seeks answers and is burdened with guilt and shame.

There she is, sitting on the gondola writing in her diary. The eyes of heaven shine on her as her skin glows, glistening on the water. The swirly stars in the night sky burn for her, screaming, "Come to us!" for she too is a star, not belonging to this Earth. Her brownish auburn hair is full and rich but uncombed. She is the artist's depiction of the perfect female, a devine mix of cultures compiled into one body. Her bluish-green eyes show grace, but there is a sadness hidden in them. A sadness she wishes to cry out, but cannot. How can one full of beauty show an ounce of sadness? Her heart cries through her writing fingers, quivering, shivering.

"If I was there for one more moment, maybe everything would change. Maybe you would still be alive. Maybe you'll see that the ones who casted you away, would love you, that their descendants would see how wonderful you saw everything, how vibrant the world was for you. It's too bad I wasn't enough for you to still stay here."

Suddenly, lightning strikes the sky, as thunder roars scaring the pedestrians nearby. The gondolier (startled) tosses and turns the gondola side by side, throwing Estellas' thoughts uncoursed, flinging her diary aside. "NO!" she screams as her Diary falls below. All the thoughts and questions now reside beneath the watery depths below. The Depths she curses for it now brings her nothing but sorrow.

The gondolier exclaims in Italian,

<" Ma'am I am so very sorry, forgive me, I will give you your money back and turn this boat around">

Estella, still upset, turns and gives a warm smile.

<"Do not worry my friend, I harbor no hate towards you. Only to the sky above and the waters below. Please if you don't mind, roe this boat so I can clear my mind, and try to be ready for tomorrow.">

Her words stammer and stumble, clearly showing distraught in her voice. Revealing her American accent, the gondolier subtly picks up on.

The gondolier nods and does as told, now rowing the boat.

Hours pass by and Estella lays back on the gondola. The rain passes by, the clouds open revealing the stars, Estella smiles and tilts her head. She notices that there is no darkness of the night, but blueness everywhere. The black moves in the winding blue, swirling the stars in the sky, and the black bursts into orangey yellow. And there, a faint of green, a greenish pink in the distance, where God hath spoken life to another universe.

"I see what you saw." she says to herself.

"I see what you saw".

The gondolier turns around in confusion speaking Italian.

<“Are you talking to me, ma’am?”>

<“No, no I'm sorry.”> she says embarrassed, picking up her head.

<“Just a lot on my mind.>,” she says now resting her head.

<“ No need to feel embarrassed. Would you like to talk about it?”>

She chuckles to herself.

<“Trust me, the only thing I’ve wanted to do in this past week is to talk to someone… about it... But you wouldn’t believe me even if I told you. It's nonsense.”> she says losing herself and looking to the night sky.

The gondolier smiles to himself.

<“Okay, okay. I will tell you a story of mine and then you. Yes?”>

<“I’m listening”> she says now closing her eyes.

<“Unlike most of my fellow gondoliers, in this beautiful city, I chose to be one.”>

She listens to the gondolier intently, now opening her eyes.

<“Ever since I was a child my papa took me to a gondola and we stayed for two hours rowing the decrepit boat and told stories. Some of the things my papa said weren’t true. But the gondolier listened anyway. And since I was a kid I always wanted to roe a boat like this one and listen to the stories my passengers have. True or not. And just by talking to you, I know there's plenty of a story written all over your face. Your accent says It all. American no?”>

Enthralled by what the gondolier said to her, she feels moved but hesitant to tell him everything.

<“Do you believe in Time Travel?”> she stutters.

ONE WEEK AGO

The constant sound of a morning alarm beeps in Estella's bedroom. It is an apartment, too big for her petite body. She thinks. But big enough for her paintings. In the living room hangs unfinished and finished works of art. There is one of a black cat hanging onto the hour hand of Big Ben. The other, a chambered bee stuck in a Cage. And One of a White lion, wearing a crown standing on a hill, next to a lamb, and dove on his shoulder.

And there stands a 13ft white canvas waiting to be painted on with a post-it note writing in all Caps: "PAINT SOMETHING". She tells anyone who visits that it is a white bunny in a snowstorm.

But in truth, she has no idea what to paint, and who to paint. And when she doesn't know what to paint she drinks-a lot.

The fragrance of the apartment, a combination of alcohol and paint fills the room. The smell is so strong it competes with the afternoon light entering through the skylight.

In her bedroom, lays asleep Estella, topless, revealing a flower tattoo on her back. Bottles of bourbon and wine glasses with droplets of merlot lay on the floor toppled on one another. Her pet raven croaks annoyingly.

“Good morning. Good morning. Good morning. Good morning”

Estella Groans and moans. “Mhmmm”

“Good morning, good morning,” the raven Croaks Louder.

“Shut up Timothy,” Estella shouts groggily.

“Timmy hungry, Hungry Timmy, Timmy Hungry, Hungry Timmy”.

“You can’t be hungry it’s only…”

Estella turns her head to the alarm,

3:35 PM

“Oh SHIT !”

Estella jumps from her bed and throws on a blouse tumbling over the bottles below, and runs to the shower.

As the mist rises from the water, she takes off her clothes, enters the shower, and stands repeating to herself.

"Mr. Oswald I am so sorry for delaying... again, If you give me another chance you won't regret it...No that sounds too desperate....Mr. Oswald forgive my tardiness... Oh my Gosh, you sound like a little bitch. He gave you a short time to complete the assignment. So just request another, another extension. God, what's wrong with me?"

She leaves the shower and puts on new clothes. A white buttoned-down dress shirt and black pants. She quickly does her hair. She grabs garbage bags from the closet, now rushing, throwing bottles in the bag and stumbling over her steps.

Her phone rings, startling Estella.

"Please don't be him, please don't be him."

She looks at the caller ID. It's a picture of her and a Chinese woman who looks to be the same age.

"Kim I cannot talk right now"

"Is he there yet? Did you finish the painting? Whatchu paint?"

"I-"

The raven croaks "Timmy hungry, hungry Timmy"

"You think I'd pick up the phone if he was here?" Estella brushing her off, now feeding Timothy.

"So he isn't there?"

"Bye Kim." Estella hangs up the phone throwing it onto the bed, still holding the trash bag. She looks over to the Clock Flashing.

4:3O

"Good, good. I still have some time."

The doorbell rings followed after by a series of impatient knocks.

"Damn."

She throws whatever garbage she sees around her and throws it in her room

"AHHH Don't leave me, don't leave me." Timothy croaks.

"Sorry, Tim."

The Door knocks louder and louder filling Estella Lenore's head.

"I'll be right there!"

She stops and looks at the 13ft blank canvas.

"Damn it," she says to herself.

She walks up to the door, gulping hard before swinging it wide open. A man stands before Estella, next to a woman. They look to be in their late sixties and appear to be very wealthy. The man has a salt and peppered look to him and wears a monocle. Estella always thought he was a walking cliche. A walking cliche who pays well. Very well.

Estella gives them both a great big smile.

"Mister and Mrs.Oswald! Welcome to my home! Please come in, come in."

Mr. Oswald briefly looks into her home and sees bourbon bottles left unkept on the floor, and the blank canvas. He sighs in disappointment.

"Honey why don't you wait in the car. Ms. Lenore and I have much to discuss." His voice sounds like the remission of an old dodge Cameron mixed with Morgan Freeman.

The Mrs. walks to the car with the driver waiting.

"Is everything okay Mr.Oswald?"

"Why don't we sit down sweetheart."

Estella leads Oswald to the couch, closing and locking the door. Refusing to sit, he stands before the canvas, confused, as if he is looking at the tilting Tower of Pisa, thinking to himself.

"Is this the painting I've been waiting for 3 months?"

Estella Gulps as the butterflies intensify in her stomach. Looking around the room trying to find an answer.

"It's actually a white bunny in a snowstorm" she chuckles nervously.

"Mhm, funny." he scoffs

Estella rubs her arms anxiously as if she is warming herself from the cold.

"Would you like something to drink?" Estella asks nervously.

Mr.Oswald ignores her request walking back and forth looking at the hanging paintings and smiling to himself. His eyes water. Something very out of character for "The Great Oswald." Estella Notices this.

"Is everything okay Mr. Oswald?"

"So it is possible."

"What is sir?"

"You can paint."

He walks up to the painting Of the Lion, lamb, and Dove.

"The way my colleagues have spoken about your work. I've never heard anyone put such a modern artist like yourself in high regard, but I see now. These concepts, the way these colors complement one another, and the mixture of Baroque and Symbolism used. Very beautiful. A white lion? The coating is immaculate."

Estella shyly smiles to herself.

"What made you think of this?"

"I don't know, my mother was religious and I was all over the place, but when she talked I listened."

Oswald turns over and listens.

She continues. "When I was a little girl she'd say something about the sacrificial lamb, the holy dove, and how God was like a lion. Lion of something or-"

"Judah" he interrupts.

"The lion of Judah." he turns back now touching the painting.

"Yeah, that." She says.

"How much?"

"I'm sorry?"

"How much are you selling this work of art?"

"I'm sorry Mr. Oswald but it's not for sale"

"Fifty-thousand."

"I'm sorry what?"

"Ahh Too small? Okay, One-Hundred Thousand."

Estella's eyes widen and her jaw nearly drops. But resists the temptation.

"I-Uhh"

"Two-Hundred thousand."

The alcohol nearly hits Estella after hearing that number. Making her knees jiggle.

"As tempting as it is for me to accept your offer I-

Mr.Oswald stops touching the painting and marches to the door. Mumbling to himself.

Estella now chasing after him in a speed walk,

"Wait, Mr.Oswald."

"I do not like my time wasted Ms. Lenore. As you already know, I own a Museum in New York. And I am looking for artists who are the next Michelangelo, the next, Leonardo da Vinci, The next Van Gogh. I truly believe you fit this list, Ma'am. But I cannot have my time wasted.

He goes back to the painting.

"And this painting, is beyond beautiful."

Her face falls to the ground.

"That's the last painting my mother helped me with before she died. she's been dead for *clears throat* two to three months? As much as my mother would want me to sell it, I cannot. I'm sorry."

Mr.Oswald calms down.

"Okay, Okay, Do not apologize. I am sorry. I should have figured a painting this beautiful held sentimental value.

"Thank you, sir."

"One month Ms. Lenore. I don't want a white bunny in a snowstorm, Give me something everlasting. Something beautiful. Something like this."

He walks himself out the door.

"One month."

The door slams and the vibration causes one of the paintings to fall.

She falls onto her couch letting out a big sigh.

"oh boy, oh boy oh boy. One more month Essy, one more month."

She looks at the painting of the Lion, lamb, and dove. And thinks,

"I got this."

Now more motivated than ever, Estella goes to her bedroom grabbing a change of clothes more suitable for painting.

"Hey Timmy"

Timmy croaks

"ARHHH Timmy!"

She chuckles to herself grabbing her phone from the bed. Four notifications pop up.

FROM KIM: Yo is it ready?

FROM KIM: What did he say?

FROM KIM: Where you at?

FROM KIM: You ignoring me?

Estella smiles at her phone and calls Kim.

"Tell me what he said?"

"Calm down. He just gave me another month. One final month."

"Hey that's what I'm talking about! let's celebrate!"

"No Kim, it means I have to focus. we celebrate afterward." She chuckles.

"Okay okay, good luck sis! love you."

"Love you more," Estella says, now hanging up the phone.

She goes to the living room standing before the canvas, cracking her neck, arms, and back.

"Let's do this," she says. "Now where's my paint?"

She goes over to her supply box in her closet. With a content look on her face. She opens the box. Nothing.

"Dammit!" she exclaims.

She looks around her apartment searching for any leftover paint and brushes. She finds nothing. Tired, and covered with sweat.

She drops herself to the floor.

"Is Papa Pietro open?" she asks herself.

She grabs her phone and checks the time.

8:55

"He'll make time for me"

Estella leaves her home and takes in the summer breeze. She rides out on her bike, leaving to the mysterious merchant who is Pietro. Pietro is an old blind French man who is a grandfather figure to Estella. He taught her how to perfect the craft of painting. Although he knows much about Estella, she knows very little about him. She arrives at the shop and places the bike by the window.

The shop is a very old building that looks like it should have been bulldozed years ago. Brick and wood, musty and crusty. Cobb webs are seen on the ceiling and mice scurry past as she walks in. It has an old book smell. The interior has a little bit of everything. Books, scrolls, and screenplays are stacked and shelved parallel as she walks through the hall. Think of Barnes and Noble in the 19th century. There are shelves upon shelves of different toys from different cultures some not made of this century.

She picks up a doll made from straw.

How did he preserve this for so long? And so well. She thinks to herself.

A rustle and a tumbling move from the back of the register.

"Papa Pietro?"

In French

<"Papa Pietro it's Estella. Are you back there?">

Emerging from the darkness of the back room stands a balding man with the haircut of Einstien and the beard of Lincoln.

He stops in his steps, looks around with his blind eyes, as he takes in a whiff of the air.

sniff *sniff*

He smiles wide.

<"Is that my favorite artist?">

<"How'd you know I was here?">

<"What'd you mean how'd I know dummy, I heard you. haha.">

She bearhugs Him.<"How are you?" >

<"I'm well honey, I'm well. How's your sister-uhh, Kimmy?">

<"Kim is Kim.">

<"She was always a crazy one no?">

<"Yeah you can say that.">

<"So what is it? I know you didn't come to just say hi to Papa Pietro.">

<"I'm sorry, I promise we'll have lunch one of these days.">

<"No need to be sorry, little one. I live to serve. But I will take you up on that lunch.">

<"I'm painting this mural for a client of mine, and--">

<"And you need paints! Haha! just one moment!">

Estella smiles at him as Papa Pietro Leaves to his back room holding a wooden box of old oil paint.

Estella grabs the box from the counter.

<"Thank you so much, I'll give it back when I'm done>" she leans kissing his cheek.

As she begins to walk away, Papa Pietro grabs her shoulder, now looking very stoic.

<"When you're about to paint, don't paint anything dark, like war, hell, or whatever. Paint something beautiful, something safe.">

Estella confused, nods.

<"Of course Papa, is there something you want to tell me?"> she says turning back towards him.

<"No, no. You'll see soon enough sweetheart, just know these oil paint has the power to really draw you in.">

Estella tilts her head smiling. Now hugging him.

<"I'll see you later Papa Pietro">

<"Bye now, sweetheart, bye now.">

Estella begins to leave the store content with a bright smile on her face. Papa Pietro stands there jittering.

<"Wait! Take this painting.">

Papa Pietro hands her a painting covered in brown wrapping paper.

<"Take this bag to carry it on your back. Open it when you finish your painting. Yes?">

Her brows furrow. <"What's going on?">

<"Nothing to worry about sweet heart"> he says out of breath.

Estella throws the covered painting on her back and puts the box of oil paint in her basket attached to the bike and hops on, a little thrown off by Papa Pietros' behavior. She rides her bike back home, setting it next to her car.

She enters her house setting aside the box on the coffee table and the covered painting beside the couch. She goes to her room to feed Timmy.

"Arahhh Timmy!" Timmy Croaks.

Estella rolls up her sleeves now letting out the box of oil paint.

Moments pass and she paints a beautiful landscape of a man with a straw hat on a hill. Colors full and vibrant.

"There you go little man haha, I think Mr.Ozwald would like it," she chuckles to herself.

She sets the paint brushes aside and views the painting, with her arms akimbo.

Blood rushes down her nose ever so suddenly.

"Oh shoot, Oh God," she says grabbing her nose and attempting to rush to the kitchen.

Before she could pass her couch, all sound stops causing her to fall to the floor. Everything twists and turns around her creating a small whirlpool around her. She sees parts of her body disappearing. Forming dust.

She mouths

"WHAT'S HAPPENING?"

She disappears from her home. Nowhere to be found.

Estella is face-first on the dirt ground. She gets up with her nose still bloodied. looking around, wondering, fearing. A man with ginger facial hair, wearing a straw hat with a bandage around his left ear approaches her with open palms carrying a knapsack.

"Are you alright Ma'am?"

Estella vomits and falls to the ground.

"Oh my." The man exclaims. He stoops down to her level and picks her up, carrying her to the cottage not far from where they are.

Her sight and memory are foggy

"Shhh now have this tea."

Estella jolts up in an old quaint room that smells like flowers. The man who tended to her, no where to be seen.

"Flowers?" is the first thing she thought. She moves through the house wondering how she got here. She looks outside. It is night and the stars shine bright. She sees upon a hill the same ginger man who greeted her.

"He must know how I got here, lets's hope he isn't a crazy psycho" she chuckles to herself."

She approaches the man laying on the field of grass.

"Come sit, lay down," he says

she indulges and lays with him.

"Who are you if I might ask?"

"I'm Vincent, nothing more nothing less. Maybe lesser than less."

"Who are you?

"Friends call me Essy, but my name is Estella."

"Nice to meet you, Estella. I know you may have a lot of questions, you were very much knocked cold. But right now, let us look at the brightly night sky for now."

She indulges and calms her mind. Something tells her that she is safe. He won't hurt her.

They lay there on the hill staring at the night sky. Vincent reaches his arm out to the sky

“Have you reckoned the sky much?”

“I’m sorry?”

“The sky, have you thought about the wind that swirls in the sky and the stars bursting in the air?”

“I haven’t actually. I never really had the time I guess.”

Vincent sways his arm around the sky

“Look,” he says.

“The sky shines as the sun is no more. A deep blue and a lighter blue are blowing through the blueness and a blackish-white wind swirling through the air and then shining, Bursting through the stars, never-ending, never standing still.”

"Wow, Vincent. you have a beautiful way of viewing things." Estella says staring into the bright night sky.

Vincent caresses her hand and she lets him. As they both stare at the night of a thousand stars.

In the morning, Estella wakes up from the bedroom from where Vincent nursed her.

Vincent stands on the hill smiling at the canvas of a painting of Estella he conjured up from memory.

"Is this what love is? No, no No! I only met her, she will surely leave." He yells, destroying the canvas...

Vincent paces on the hill by his stool and canvas with a gun laying by.

“She can’t be real, what is this lie?”

Estella is now in the house admiring the beauty of this new world she is in, thinking, “I still don't understand how I got here.”

She goes by the kitchen to figure out what to eat. And how to prepare it. What a nice man he is. She thinks.Not wanting to trouble Vincents' things, she leaves the kitchen, now wandering his home.

Vincent on the hill still yelling,“She is not real, she is not real. But she is? Why are the voices back?”

He bangs his head and bandaged his ear. The ear now bleeding as he whines and cries out,

“I thought I stopped it? I thought I stopped it!"

He falls to the floor and bangs on the ground.

Estella walks around the house confused by what she sees. The floor is unkempt and creaky, the lights dull and old. She is noticing how old everything truly is.

"This guy must like home goods” she chuckles to herself.

She walks into a room. A work room. A room only a painter would recognize. Paints all over the room unsorted, and disorganized. She sees rolled-up sheets of canvas paper in the corner of the room. She looks behind her checking if the coast is clear. She rolls one down. Her eyes widen dropping what she now sees to be a painting. A painting of "The Starry Night." She unrolls another. A painting of "Wheatfields with crows."

"This can't be"

She unrolls another, she stoops down to the floor in disbelief. A portrait of...

"Van Gogh. He's Vincent VanGogh."

Vincent sits on the stool with the gun now facing toward him, He huffs and puffs to himself.

“Need to make the voices stop. Need to make the voices. Stop. They can't come back."

Estella Runs to the front of Vincent's house

"I don't know how I ended up here but if that's Van Gogh, and those were his paintings, then, he doesn't have to die. He doesn't have to shoot himself. He needs to know that he's loved."

BANG

Estella hears the gunshot from the hill. And a tear trickles down her face.

"I'm too late."

She runs to the top of the hill seeing a Vincent holding his bloodied gut. Estella stoops down and trys to stop the bleeding. As she holds Vincent in her arms, He caresses her face and hair. Blood now smeared on her face.

“Please be real." he says.

A tear falls from her eye. “I’m real Vincent, I’m here. You see, feel my head, feel my hand I’m here.”

She places his hand on her face wiping her tears with them.

He gives her a sad smile.

“The sadness will last forever."

"No it won’t Vincent, it’s okay you’re gonna live, Okay? You’re gonna see how much you mean to people."

She struggles to pick him up, he stands weary and ready to fall.

"Let's get you help, yeah?"

The sound stops and her nose begins to bleed again. Air and leaves around her begin to swirl.Little by little her fingers disappear. And just like that she’s gone.

Vincent turns around holding his wound.

“Thank you for for-" he turns around and no one is there to be found.

“I knew it,” he says. “I knew it”.

Vincent, bloodied, weeps, holding his wound, walking down the hill, finding the nearest town.

Estella appears back in her living room, laying on the floor. She touches her body and face.

“No no no no no, Vincent?”

She runs, outside. She’s home.

“I’m home. How?”

She goes back to the living room and to her surprise. Her painting is gone. She goes to her room to see Timmy. Nothing has changed. It is as if she’s never left. She sits down looking at the covered Canvas given to her by Papa Pietro. She looks at the time. Still stunned and in unbelief at what just occurred.

“Was I dreaming? He was right there in front of me. How did I get there?"

She cradles her head and scratches it trying to make sense of everything. She picks up the covered canvas, ripping it open.

“No way”

Tears fall from her eyes as she pushes the canvas away, now crawling farther away from it.

“He’s blind how did he know? Where the hell did he get this?”

The canvas below is a portrait mixed with elements of Baroque and Post-impressionism and the vibrancy and essence of Van Gogh. But was not painted by him, it couldn’t have been. It is of a man wearing a straw hat laying next to a woman with a butterfly tattoo. Inscribed at the bottom, The woman of tomorrow.

Present.

<Papa Pietro was nowhere to be found after that too>

The gondolier now sitting in the gondola enthralled by her story.

<What did you do to the Painting?>

<I gave it to Mr. Oswald, he practically cried when I gave it to him. I told him to put it under anonymous. He didn’t understand but I insisted.”

The gondolier getting up, about to row,

<Wow, what a story! Never heard anything like it. I don’t believe you of course but well done! Beautiful story nonetheless.>

<What? I thought you said it didn’t matter, true or not.”

<Yes, but I am still entitled to my opinion no?> He teases giving a wink of an eye.

Estella rolls her eyes splashing water on his face.

She lies down looking at the stars and the swirling wind surrounding the stars, the blue blowing through the blueness and shining and bursting through the stars. Never Ending, never standing still, seeing what Vincent saw.