Picture of Old Art School by Raul Garcia on Google
A NEW ART SCHOOL
© Kelvin M. Knight, 2019
Pedro scratched in the dust with his fingertips. Colours seeped towards the peeling plaster on those cracked columns. Slowly, everything brightened. Standing, he gesticulated rainbow-coloured fingers and sang nervously. He didn’t know what the words meant, but he remembered them from when he sat on his Nanna’s knee. She would sing him asleep. She would sing him awake.
Unsure if he was awake or asleep, Pedro continued painting the dust, with great flourishes of his arms as if he were a dictator of old, followed by delicate brushstrokes as if his fingers were butterfly wings.
Quickly the empty windows and doorways filled with faces. People’s eyes glistened with tears yet their smiles shone through the dust choking their lips. Fear and pride swirled in their hearts.
Clutching his heart, Pedro chewed his bottom lip. These people were his family, were all he knew. Together, they must fill this place again.
The above story was written in response to the What Pegman Saw prompt, which this week took us to:
You are warmly invited to the Inlinkz link party to read other globetrotting contributors’ stories inspired by this week’s prompt.