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Blacks and Blues

Amber Shoemake-Doughty

    Alex approached the painting with his feet dragging and arms stiff. Joseph was cutting the painting out of the frame with quick slicing motions, not taking the time to make precise cuts.
    “Joe, I have a bad feeling,” Alex said, eyes darting around the vast open space. “Something just doesn’t seem right.”
    “Really?” Joseph replied, turning around with a box cutter in his hands and a belittling look. “We are robbing a museum, of course it doesn’t seem right.” He returned to his hasty slicing motions.
    “That’s not what I...” Alex’s voice trailed off as his eyes met a painting, dark and covered by the shadow of another painting. He tried to resist the pull of his feet, but he walked toward the painting anyway.
    Standing in front of the painting, Alex’s eyes lit up. The art work was so deliberate, as if the artist knew from the beginning that this painting would be something special. Alex put his hand on his chin and examined the painting from top to bottom. The colors ranged from blue to black and an eerie grey that Alex stared into.
    Joseph finished cutting the painting out of the frame, leaving a bare spot where the painting used to hang. “See, that wasn’t so bad,” he said, rolling up the painting. He ignored the flakes of paint that fell to the ground like snowflakes on his feet. “Okay, so now we have the Rembrandt, so we need to find a good escape route and...” Joseph turned around and glared at Alex, who still stood, feet planted in front of the painting.
    “Are you kidding me man?” Joseph asked, stepping off the ladder and facing Alex. “Since when did you give a shit about art?”
    Alex didn’t move or react. His eyes were glazed over and his body was stiff, much like the painting in front of him.
    “Dude, seriously?” Joseph walked toward Alex, his feet bouncing as if being helped off the ground. “If you want this one so bad we’ll take it too.” Once the painting was in view, he dropped the box cutter. The blues and blacks of the painting were solid and meaningful. The gray began to move in waves across the painting, dancing and reflecting off the men’s eyes.
    Alex and Joseph felt a pulling sensation, which neither of them resisted. They put a hand up, reaching towards the flowing grey tones. Suddenly, a flash of smoke filled the area around the painting, which evaporated within seconds. Once cleared, there were no traces of the men or the paintings in their possession. The only thing left was the dark painting on the wall, which stood still.
    The next morning, the director of the museum called it one of the most devastating losses of art in the century. She wept in front of cameras, and begged for the return of the work. Once alone, she approached the painting in the vast room filled with empty frames. The blues and blacks covered the grey behind it. She smiled, rubbing her hands together like a praying mantis. Everything was calm in the empty gallery.

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