Was it morning?
Had the sun dipped down into the sky?
It was all irrelevant if she had some materials in front of her; all that mattered was the art.
On the day the weather took a sudden turn, the artist was sitting down on the floor of her apartment. A large canvas -- big enough to take up a good portion of her living room floor -- had been spread out as well. Colors covered the white canvas, a hodgepodge of hues that had been splattered at random and without much thought on Asiya’s part. Tubes of oil paints also littered the floor, not seeming to bother the artist in the slightest that she had made such a mess. It wasn’t like company was coming over, anyway. Her family had made sure of that. Oh, well.
The grumble of her stomach was, eventually, enough to pull the young woman from her work. Paint covered her hands, and so she refrained from wiping her sweat-covered brow, while choosing to exhale a sigh, instead. ”...Guess it’s time for some food..”
The sink seemed to almost call out to her as she walked into her tiny kitchen. The faucet turned on with a flick of her wrist, and as the water poured out, she waited for the temperature of it to warm. Soap followed that, and once her hands were under the faucet, a myriad of colors drifted from her hands and down into the pipes below. If she was going to eat, then her hands needed to be clean, at the very least. The splotches of paint on her clothes -- those didn’t bother her at all. In fact, they added character, in Asiya’s mind. Her mother always hated them.
With a leftover bowl of harira - a traditional Moroccan soup she had prepared - in the microwave, Asiya now allowed herself to finally gaze out the window of her home. A light rain was falling from the sky, and a mist had spread out all around the area. ”Huh…” she murmured, blinking a bit in surprise at the sudden change in the weather. ”...I didn’t know it was supposed to rain?” Her thoughts then drifted to the local news that had aired not too long ago. She was trying to remember what the weather report would be, but that wasn’t what popped into her head.
What Asiya recollected was the fact that five people had gone missing or something.
Or was it six?
She had lost track. In any case, people were gone, and they didn’t know why, and now it was raining.
The microwave went off with a ding, to which Asiya simply shrugged, and went to get her food. She ate in silence for the next half an hour after that.
With her bowl of soup empty and her stomach full, the artist found herself moving back over to the window yet again. Whatever was going on, it seemed strange. A funny feeling that she couldn’t quite place tugged at the back of her mind. ”Better go investigate, I guess…”
Pulling on some rain boots, Asiya also grabbed her favorite bubble umbrella. There was no way she’d be getting wet in this weather -- not if she could help it. She then grabbed her purse, house keys, and a coat and then disappeared out the door of her house. It was time to go exploring, and her art was all but forgotten.
[ Word Count: 581 ]
