The artist hunched over his pad of blank paper for nearly an hour at his favorite outdoor eastside cafe, the cigarette butts collecting beneath the table. “Why haven’t I been struck by the Muse?” the tortured artist sulked while gazing wincingly at the sun. He adjusted his black beret and sat back in the light wooden chair. “Pathetic,” he thought, “another bright day clouding my talent!” He scowled forward and snatched his pencil, thoughtlessly dabbling two ovals side by side. “What is this?” the artist peered piercingly at the two ovals, “Reveal yourself to me!” He slowly began to draw a smaller oval within the right oval… “Yes, an eye… but not just any eye. Please go on!” The artist continued to meticulously draw and the next hour carried by in a most surreal manner, this right eye becoming increasingly apparent to him… It was the “Eye of Death” of course and the left eye was slowly becoming the “Eye of Riddle”! The artist’s imagination was enticing him further and further down the rabbit hole.
The artist dedicated his whole afternoon to his masterpiece, along with two vanilla soy lattes. He gave his eyes a home to a skeleton’s face. A skeleton that relaxed in a hammock fixed between two palm trees in front of the ocean. “This is my happiness”, the skeleton seemed to say, “solve my riddle and it too can be yours.” The artist sketched and sketched as the world around him passed by and scurried about. Even as he penciled in the Mai Tai that rested proudly in the skeleton’s left hand, the artist paid no attention to it but to the “Eye of Death”. At the back of his mind, the “Eye of Riddle” whispered tauntingly, “Become my secret”.
The light rain announced itself, interrupting the artist; he looked up in surprise to see that the once warm, sunny day had become a cold, cloudy night. He looked frantically once more into the eyes of the skeleton and then packed it away with his supplies. He left the café and walked quickly to the stairs leading him down to the subway, his thoughts spinning upon what could possibly be the answer to the “Eye of Riddle”. In silence, he rode the subway back to Brooklyn; during the trip he remained deep in thought over the “Eye of Riddle”. “This is my happiness. Solve my riddle and it too can be yours…” His mind raced for the answer. “What could be this skeleton’s happiness? …The ocean? No, too obvious. A hammock? No, too simple…” The artist dwelled more on the picture… “A skeleton, with two piercing eyes… one a riddle… and the other Death!” His mind kept returning to his only hollow solution as he breathed anxiously: This riddle was impossible to solve with just the mind; it called for the artist’s own skeletal body to reach out to the Skeleton’s Eyes as well. Fear began to steer harder within but this was a test of artistry!
The subway reached his stop and the artist ran swiftly to his studio. He opened his door and ran straight to the bath, turning on the cold faucet to draw himself an icy bath. As the water slowly rose, the artist removed his clothes and then delicately opened his bag, removing his drawing with upmost care. He stood up and held the artwork towards the light staring deeply into the Eyes. As if possessed the artist stepped into the bath; he paid no mind to the freezing water that instantly stunned his nerves. He sank himself lower into the tub as he placed the skeleton upright on the toilet to face him. Not taking his eyes off the eyes of the skeleton, he turned the faucet off and drifted further into the tub. His breathing grew heavy and more rapid as he nervously lit the creamy white candle he had lit so many times before but this occasion was the most special, never mind that romantic evening with Mindy.
The artist placed his hands on his knees that peaked above the water like tips of icebergs. A sense of calm waved over the artist as his heart slowed its beat and his solitary breaths fogged the room. He could hear the calm pitter-patter of rain outside and the sounds of the cars that slicked past his window every so often. He closed his eyes and looked towards the ceiling as he inhaled a deep breath that reminded him of his shivering body. Slowly he opened his eyes and drew his attention eerily back to the eyes of the skeleton. He focused in on the “Eye of Riddle” that now twinkled more intensely upon him. “Come!” it said, “Come experience my secret.” The artist grew faint and out of focus as his eyes moved to the “Eye of Death”. As his eyes moved, his left hand moved towards the razor. The “Eye of Death” seemed so peaceful and steadfast with its gaze. “What is your secret?” the artist whispered, placing the sharpness of the razor upon his right wrist. “Come,” the Riddle said, “Come.” The artist slid the razor down the valley and placed the razor into the quivering, faint right palm. The left hand picked up the runny right hand and flopped it onto its own. “Down the valley I come for you my painting… my painting… my pain-“ The artist whispered back as his blood clouded the cold water and his eyes remained fixated on the eyes of the skeleton. By midnight, the right eye of the artist matched the skeleton’s “Eye of Death” perfectly but his left eye did not match the “Eye of Riddle”. The left eye of the artist whispered “Death” while the “Eye of Riddle” exclaimed, “Mai Tais!”
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