Candor or Ordascious undertakings

Nick tried to put on a straight face as Rowland fumbled out of the car and as far as feelings go, was completely null, so much so that he didn't feel the cold as his white shirt clung to him as the ocean wind blew.

Nick put back on his turtle neck as the night winds got colder due to the slow crawl of autumn's wake; sitting in the car a little while longer before hopping out and grooming his hair with his fingertips, closing the door behind him. He looked at Rowland who was in his own world and enjoying it and roughly wrapped his arm around his neck.

"We go in and we kick ass, plain and simple.", Nick said as he put on his glasses with the other hand; walking along with Rowland toward a quaint bar squeezed between an inner city college and university student residential grounds in a busy part of town. It was only eight in the evening, so most people were calling it a day by then which filled the streets with noise or rather white noise that Rowland used to focus despite his high. He saw a cop car and was a bit more motivated to not look so doped, standing up straight when Nick broke contact with him as he walked in front to greet the bouncer at the door manning the small line that ran right next to the door. A heavy but beefy dark man who seemed to use guys like Rowland as weight lifts stood by the door with his arms crossed and legs apart defensively but relaxed as Nick approached.

They passed words as He and Nick exchanged a soulful handshake departing as Nick further disappeared inside for a moment before turning back and beckoning the lagging Rowland who then made haste.

Once inside, the smoky air of ordinary cigarettes filled his mouth and nose as well dressed yet rustic pioneers of poetry and hipsters sat down and filled the space with the familiar rumble of hushed conversations. Either a drink or a cigarette was found on each table if not both as this cafe/ bar filled up with sounds of clinking and smokey banter. Pretty posters hung on the plain brick walls as faux grapevines hung with lighting for decoration.

Rowland spotted the canvas on stage and felt his heart pang, unsettled by what he was about to do next, watching as thick rimmed glasses glared at him from a table with what he felt was an unwelcoming glance although by chance. They seemed to be late for Rowland heard a waitress passing by whisper a "finally" as she spotted Nick and Rowland moving towards the stage.

"Five minutes late.", Nick grimaced playfully; "If this isn't fashionable, then I don't know what is.", he continued to joke, but Rowland couldn't laugh for he was too nervous; he hated being late, hoping he could hide his face behind the A3 canvas.

Now standing on stage Nick lifted his chin slightly with a sort of preparatory gesture of pride as Rowland turned his canvas vertical and hid.

"Evening all.", Nick spoke clearly and cool and made random groups of guys and girls 'whoo' the way all college students 'whoo' as he continued; "What a lovely night this is with all you lovely people.", his voice low and hum as if he was talking to a lover while Rowland listened.

"I brought a friend with me tonight...", he gestured towards Rowland who simply put a peace sign in the air while his face was still covered by the canvas, the crowed laughed at the gesture; figuring it was a simple joke to emphasise his shyness but he genuinely didn't want to be seen.

"Yeah, he's a bit shy but he'll come around.", Nick humoured with the crowd as he worked with their energy, Rowland felt like a puppy.

"This one's called...", he paused for dramatic affect; "...a riddle.", he finally said bowing his head closer to the microphone as he hunched over.

Rowland was prepared to only listen to his words, counting the colours that lay before him on the easel. Nick began;

" You uproot me from my soil to light your four walls with my colour despite how much it pains me, clipping my thorns that I thought would protect me from your ruthless and unforgiving heart. Leaving me to believe I was respected for conquering you. Yet I sit neglected by your selfish love.", he spoke passionately, like a love lorn man.

"You lustfully gaze my way as I die a little every day. You won't hold me...", he uttered sounding pained, thrusting the room into a gloomy silence as they listened. He sounded on the verge of tears and although this was all for the performance; this Rowland knew, but his emotions sounded real. It urged him to think about flowers, he scribbled and scratched feverishly using the house from earlier that day as inspiration.

"I drown in my glass mixed with my tears. You lied to me when you told me I was beautiful, as I stare hollowed; at another memory of another soul, dried from your lustful embrace as it bled them dry.", he sounded enraged, voice shaking with the duality of two emotions. It almost made Rowland stop; wiping pastel colours onto his white shirt unwittingly occasionally.

"Everyday I wilt and I sink closer to the floor.... But stand for your attention...I stand with you in mind and unlike the others I stand for your purpose...for the purpose that which you gave me. If not that then what am I?", Nick said after a deep breath that was audible due to the technological equipment.

He pulled out the dried rose from his hair symbolically and crushed it in his hand; dropping it's lightweight pieces on the ground as he leaned closer to the microphone one last time but with no emotion at all on his face apart from tears that ran down his cheeks;

"Nothing.", the crowd seemed to have a lagging time of ten seconds before the morbid silence broke, Rowland turned his canvas to the crowd and held his breath; half expecting what came next but only because of Nick's performance.

The room came to life with cheers and whistles as well as finger snaps and loud hand claps. The two of them had a standing ovation, Nick humbly smiled and bowed in gratitude as Rowland finally revealed his face and did the same. His bright forest green eyes were beaming with personal satisfaction as the artwork although rushed, seemed to have come together in his mind.

A dark background highlighted an illuminated vase from an unknown lights source. Within the vase lay a lonely blooming rose that coiled within and around a small skeleton drowning within the water placed inside the vase. The skeleton's face was - like the other one before but this time had it's mouth agape in what looked like pain as the Rose emerged from it's mouth; teeth peeling off small bits of the Rose as it was lodged within it's tiny frame. The Rose hung on one side carelessly and unaware of the pain it caused the miniature version of the human skeleton. Nick took a look and smiled;

"I just knew we would knock 'em dead.", He said cockily walking off the stage, past the bar and out the door.

Rowland caught up, still holding the canvas;

"So that's it..? You just drop the mic and leave?", he asked; " We're done? I-I get the offer..?"

Nick swung the door of the car open and leaned over it as he overlooked the roof; " That's it.", he sighed; "Kinda scary how simple it can be?", his rhetorical remark made Rowland want to jump in the air and smash the canvas as an 'in yo face!' to the universe. Nick chuckled seeing how Rowland tried to repress his excitement and got into the car. Rowland still couldn't believe that this was happening, the painting that he held was going to be neatly placed in a newly established art gallery.

It was time to go home. The day was rocky in Rowland's eyes as he turned to face Nick as he drove; "So what was the meaning to that message?", Rowland asked referring to the poem.

Nick looked at him confused; "I don't understand, you drew exactly what I said, what do you wanna know?"

"I mean yeah sure, I drew the literal meaning...but I mean, the only true perspective worth note is of the artist themselves so..?", Rowland starting this conversation with glee and a new sense of smokey happiness as he awaited an answer.

"It was about...to put in a few words...", Nick thought as he answered; "The abusive and addictive nature of existence."

"Explain.", Rowland requested.

"The Rose is a metaphor, and it's circumstances are a feeling. I just Fucking made it up.", Nick answered with an unrelated sigh.

"Tss, So much for a few pages...", Rowland stated as he looked out the window and they both shared a laugh.

Rowland; who half expected a long winded speech about the poem's moral significance and meaning, was actually quite satisfied with the answer he got as it was simply put. Yawning and tapping his foot to a random song on the radio as Nick drove him home.

Opening his front door and breathed a sigh of relief mixed with the smell of smoke from earlier that day holding his trophy of the day's activities, placing it neatly on the floor by his couch as he sinks himself into the cushions. He didn't own a television, so he took out his lap top and streamed his favorite things; flipping through his phone as one of his shows started, really using this time to forget about the forgotten house.

While going through his photos his phone died, so he focused his attention to the show he was watching; BLACK MIRROR -there's nothing like fighting trauma with existential trauma, nothing like a good show. He watched until his eye lids felt heavy; occasionally nodding off and waking up. He figured it was time to go to sleep, so he shut down not only his laptop but also his brain; taking his phone with him to charge. Stripping himself of his pants and tossing them in a forgotten corner and practically dived into his bed.

He finally fell asleep...

But it seemed as though his waking moments never ceased. He was somehow back at the house, he felt cold and it was dark. There were no other skeletons like before but just the one he noticed last among the others. He stared at it; looking the way it did before except this time... It's head turned towards Rowland's direction, it was truly alive. Rowland caught his breath in his chest and held it against his racing heart as he shuddered, a heat like that of an open oven washed over him as the skeletal gentleman used it's cane to lift it's self off the chair it rested in. Rowland couldn't wake up, he didn't know if he was dreaming as he felt stiff and controlled. He watched as the skeleton took big steps towards him as the heat seemed to be omitting from it. He watched as the sudden sound of flies buzzing in his ears turned into a loud hum then into a vibration as it shook him to the very core... As the white zombie made it's way across the floor and now right in front of Rowland's face who couldn't hear anything at all, not even the hum; a defining silence as he stood face to face with this thing which, out of nowhere slammed it's hands on either side of Rowland's body hitting a wall he didn't notice, and then opened it's mouth as if trying to consume him. His vision went blurry and he lost what little control he had of himself; screaming and yelling as the beast inched closer...

And then he woke up... To the sound of his phone alarm waking him up, highlighted on his lock screen as he slid a finger left to shut it off; waking up with such a fright. As he shut off the alarm, the last picture he scrolled to was of Nick when they were up at that house. Rowland was cold and sweaty from the dream. He didn't really remember what happened but what he could feel was so real, he shook his head and made his way to the bathroom.

It was just another day.