#Chapter 98: The Dinner

Iris I stand back, wiping my hands on my already paint-stained overalls, and tilt my head to examine the finished piece. It’s vibrant. Alive. The central image depicts a framed dent in a kitchen wall, cracks spider-webbing outward. Yellow sunshine spills across the scene, dust motes floating in the air, and a baseball bat leans against the wall beneath the frame. When did I start painting happiness again? Usually my work leans toward the melancholic side of things, all muted blues and grays with occasional bursts of controlled color and light. But this… this is practically on fire. I’ve already used up one whole tube of yellow paint getting the sunbeams just right. I check the time on my phone and realize I’ve been painting for over four hours straight, completely lost in the creative flow. If I were analyzing someone else’s work, I’d say the artist was experiencing a significant emotional upswing. Or perhaps a manic episode. Which, I suppose,