Jealousy: blessing or a curse?

He woke up next to a small paddle of blood with a small pocketknife in his left hand. He was left handed and proud of it. He often boasted about his creativity. But one thing he hated about himself was his jealous nature. Here’s the story of a man whom we will name poor old Jack, or just plain Jack.

Poor old Jack was neither poor nor old, just a little too much of anything. A little too passionate and a true romantic at heart but he never showed it. An artist of sorts so every little thing moved him. Or should I say every little thing moved him to anger and thus he produced art. So that’s how he lived. He forced himself angry so that he could paint his life away. It was a lonely life as you can imagine.

During one of his midnight window-shopping sprees he saw the woman of his dreams. She was standing not too far from a train station. Dressed in tattered black tights, 15-inch wedges and a long overcoat. She may be mistaken for a prostitute, selling her love for a few quid. She wasn’t though and Jack loved that about her. He saw her once and his blood pressure rose to such degree he nearly exploded. ‘I must paint. I must do it now!’ he thought and disappeared into his little dark basement of a flat.

As life went on, Jack was finishing one painting after the other. His nights were only for watching her from a distance. There she was again, chatting away with her friends. It's needless to mention that he never spoke to her.  Yet she served as his muse without her knowledge. It was enough for Jack to know that she existed. He spared himself the pleasure of meeting her, knowing how jealous he could be. Should anything fishy happen he wouldn’t hesitate to use violence. He’s done it before.

She was a blessing in disguise despite the warm feelings he felt towards her. He interpreted the warm feelings as anger. How else would his heartbeat rise to the sky and back every time he saw her. It was this anger that fed his creativity. Like a fetish some would say.

The story went on for months and Jack felt exhausted after finishing each painting. He gave his life and soul to that unknown woman just to have a few hours of inspiration every day. He soon grew weary and tired but he continued painting and seeing her regardless. That’s when he decided to spice things up. One night he would show up with his best painting to make her acquaintance.

So he did. He met her and cherished all her little details he couldn’t see from afar. He then printed all her features on a canvas. Shortly after she would pose for him on a regular basis. She would stand still and he would paint her. Not a single world would she say and he wouldn’t let her. She dotted on him and it’s hard to say if he shared the same feelings.  

It was no surprise when Jack had found a new muse to paint that she got jealous but never showed it. She only took his pocketknife shoved it in her purse for revenge. When the opportunity arose she would sneak in and destroy his paintings. She would tear the upper part and then move towards the lower canvas. Leaving the middle part for last.  She would devour the core as if it was his heart.

So she did. One night she sneaked in his flat without knowing he was already there, sleeping. The candles, he used to paint with, died and he was sleeping next to his latest canvas. He must’ve fallen asleep. It was dark so she couldn’t see much and mistakenly took his body as a canvas.

The ending you know already. What you don’t know is that he closed his eyes shortly after. Her name may just as well be Sally, by the way.

It’s hard to say for sure whether jealousy was a blessing or a curse for Jack’s case. Was she not a blessing that turned into a curse?  


Originally published in PillowFights:
http://en.pillowfights.gr/dwell_in_possibility/item3750/A_portrait_of_a_jealous_muse