The Man Who Talks to Paintings

She is only 18 when she meets him. Things turn for the worst when she finds out his occupation. For the next nine years they are targeted by the syndicate in different continents before one of them dies.

 

              Now all I have left is one pound and a lonesome eighty two pence. There is nothing else in my pockets. From afar, I can see what happens to be the funeral of a great man. This great man went by the name Liam Wakesfield. He has changed my life for the better and his leaving of this world was for the worst. That one pound and eighty two pence is last bit of money he had given me. Then again, he only had time to give me his spare change and according to what is written in his will I receive nothing of what he owned. He made sure to make my existence a secret from his family.

              The gravel buckles under my feet at a steady pace as I walk forwards. The gravel soon turns in to asphalt and the cemetery increases in size as I approach it. Two tall guards protect the entry way in a very regal manner. Casually, I walk up to the guards.

              “Good day Ma’am.” The guard on the left greets me. Both of the guards nod their head at me. I politely curtsy in reply.

“May I pass?” I motioned to the funeral in the background.

“Well,” The guard on the right, my right that is, held out his hand. “This is a private funeral only for the close family and friends of the deceased. Do you have an invitation or some other sort of proof?”

My heart skipped a beat. I cannot go to his funeral? Is he still trying to protect me, even in to his death? That makes me feel special. It’s like he actually cared.

But now I have reached a metaphorical wall. I have no invitation. I have no proof. Before the events directly leading up to his death I have not seen him in four long years. Of course I wouldn’t have any proof.

My only option is to get down on my knees and beg for my entry. “Oh please,” The guard looked away as if he knew this was to happen. “Please kind sir, let me pass.” Tears start to swell up. Even with my self control, the tears pool over. I scream out again. “Please, please!”

“Ma’am, stop crying please.” My tears cease to stop. The guard on the left sticks out his hand to me and helps me off of the ground. From out of his pocket he grabs a handkerchief and offers it to me. I do not take the cloth let I leave it hanging in his hand. I sniffle a bit to ease my emotions. “But,” The right hand side guard sighed out of annoyance of what has to happen. “I still cannot let you pass.” I break out in to tears once again.

The guards no longer care about what I have to say anymore and disregard me. I yell out to catch their attention. “But I’m his fiancé!” I only said that out of desperation but the claim is true. The guards look at each other then both turn around. The guard on the left nods then takes a step towards me. He forces his gaze on me as he spoke. “The wife of the deceased has already entered the premises.”

I quickly restore my composition. No more crying. Not even a single sniffle. The shock forced me back in to reality, the reality of the lies.

It all makes sense now. I understand why it’s a private funeral. He did not want me to meet his family. It’s like he has a completely different life. It makes me wonder which one of those lives is real.

The End

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