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Vignettes Regarding the Artwork of Brendon Kotes
Brendon drove to his studio, the morning humid and bright. The studio itself was cool though, the stone floor echoing softly underfoot as he straightened up the strewn papers and logs he’d been sifting through yesterday evening. Then he found himself sitting on one of his paint-splattered stools, sketchbook in front of him, like so many others before it.
There’d been four. Four pictures so many years ago. He sketched a rudimentary set of four rectangles offset from one another.
There’d been Dmitri’s painting, the one he’d given the man as a gift after a year’s worth of attempts to teach sports to an artist. That one had sat in the upper right, but slightly lower than its left counterpart. The trajectory of the ball had it going down, aimed at the bottom left painting. That one had been of Brendon’s mother.
And the other two, they’d been—
Brendon started, a black smear streaking across his sketchbook. But it was just his phone announcing a text message from one Orion Livesey, a hunter with a bow.
“Did you change your mind?”
Brendon typed back that he was at his studio, and only hesitated for a brief moment before pushing send.
Orion’s response came in seconds: “I’ll be right there to fetch you.”
Brendon looked again at the series of four rectangles he’d sketched. Then he closed the sketchbook and shoved it away. That didn’t stop the reminder of those paintings though. Didn’t stop them from staring back at him every time he closed his eyes.
Next Chapter Coming January 5th