In the Details
Note: This is a revised version of this Take Ten to Write story. To read the original version, click here.
Let’s begin at the edge.
The edge is torn. The once-soft fibres of the paper reach out, trying to grab at their brothers who were ripped from their fingers. Now, they’re frozen in place, splayed open like the jagged limbs of an old tree.
The edge is a darkened, crusty yellow. A few pigments of colour are splattered here and there, growing more concentrated as we move inward.
But let’s not rush. Back to the edge.
The few scattered pigments around the edge are a multitude of colours. Some complement each other; some clash. There’s no order to the colours, simply chaos.
Now, let’s move inward. Because as we move inward, everything begins to make sense.
The colours begin gathering now. Slowly, yes, but surely. As we drift away from the desperate, reaching fingers of the edge, we find a new land.
The paper loses its roughness, covered entirely by pigments of a vast array of colours. From here, so close to the surface, we cannot see what these colours make. But we can see the details, the little imperfections and blemishes that no one else can.
A scratch mark. A rip. A single blade of grass that’s facing down instead of up.
If anyone else were to see such things, they would surely throw away this masterpiece. It would no longer be a work of art, but a mistake. A failure.
So perhaps we should keep these details our little secret. Let them perceive it as a false perfection even though we know the truth.
Originally posted: June 28, 2021
