Chapter 4: Painting

[Move, dammit!]

The boy heaved and pushed at the hefty statues, though they did not relent at his meager shove. After a minute or so of pressure, he collapsed out of exhaustion.

[Huff... Huff... Huff...]

He forgot to take his feeble body into account, and moving the stone figures would take much effort from him. Effort that he couldn't produce, for he was far too weak for any meaningful progress.

He gave up in this useless endeavor, for his fatigue had caught up to him.

[Hmm...] A boy sat by the wooden door, ruminating on what could be done next. His previous attempt failed. [Should I try stacking the paintings?]

He turned towards the paintings that hung on the walls. They were numerous enough that if he were to gather them all and stack them, they could pass for an elevated platform. While it would take him much time to amass them all, he had another approach to take.

It made much sense in his head, until he realized how brittle the paintings were.

[Wait, no.]

The canvas was far too frail to carry his weight as while his stature implied him to be a child, he should weigh quite a bit, enough to break the thin artpieces.

[It'll probably crack under the pressure so that's out of the question.]

He further deliberated on other methods he could apply to solve his current predicament, and none turned out to be any good. They were just as absurd as his previous approach regarding the stacked paintings.

The door still stood between him and the place beyond it.

[Should I just try jumping?] He contemplated on this idea, as he had not attempted it as of yet. [Not like there's anything else I can do here.]

After a bit of rumination, the boy convinced himself that this would be the last attempt he would make regarding the painting's retrieval. His ventures have failed prior to this current one, and he need not waste anymore effort in doing so.

Once he failed in this trial, he would return back to the throne room. Especially when the gate refused him entry. It would not budge under his efforts.

Force did not work on it, and he was far too weak to make do with violence. The silver knob had no keyhole with which the door could be unlocked with. He had no options to unlock the confounded woodpiece.

In the end, this would be his last endeavor before he turned to whence he came.

[Why am I so fixated on this painting anyways?] The boy harbored doubts about his actions, though he still made peace with them. This would be his final task before returning, so there was no need for him to hold back.

[Welp, might as well give it a try.]

The boy knelt, arching his knees until they touched the ground. He wanted to leverage the strength of his flimsy legs.

And the best way, he found, was by doing so in a squatted position. With his perched form, only then could he perform a proper vertical jump.

He was ready to reach for the moon, albeit a painted one.

[And...] Alight with cindered green, he readied himself, awaiting the right moment to act. These cinders escaped his attention. And as for how, it remains to be seen. [Go!]

From his stouted figure, the boy leapt into the air, left afloat by the abrupt burst of power his legs displayed.

This was a most unexpected scenario for him, as he did not expect his lower limbs to carry such hidden strength.

[Holy-] His surprise left him to be negligent of his goal, as he had his sights set for the pictured moon. And airborne he was, as he faced the lunar artpiece. [The painting!]

The boy found himself in mid-air, and he sought his outstretched arms to move. He reached for the lunar canvas, which dangled inches away from him.

And, as his limbs reached their extent, he found the painting to be within his grasp. He landed shortly after, with a dull thud of his foot that signalled the end of his flight.

The painting was now in his hands, and he had the authority to do anything he wished with it.

Perhaps it held the clue to his departure; towards what lay beyond the door.

[...] Despite his recent accomplishment, the boy was not happy. He gently left the painting on the ground, as he revealed his annoyance. [You're kidding.]

He exerted a lot of effort into acquiring the painting.

His first attempts led him to search the entire frame for any clues that it might have held, and it bore him no results. The door was as normal as it could be, devoid of any abnormality for him to see.

His second attempt then found himself fatigued as he tried moving the statues aside, to form a temporary leverage for himself. It sounded rather stupid; and it was. He also failed with this endeavor.

His third and preceding attempt, that is, made him inspect every single painting that lined the corridor, to see whether it had hidden some sort of clue he could make use of. So, like last two attempts, he failed... utterly..

And now, a single jump from him solved his current problem, overshadowing his previous efforts.

He was not happy.

[Are you saying that I've wasted so much time prancing around when I could've just forced my lazy bum and jumped?]

His hesitation earlier, while understandable, truly bit him back.

His efforts, endeavors, and attempts, they all fell useless after he did a single leap. And it was not a leap of faith, mind you, but just a mundane one. A single, mundane jump from him that addressed his concerns.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

Still, it added more distress for him to face, as he currently was enraged.

[If you weren't such a fucking lazy bum, then perhaps we wouldn't be having this problem right now. Because of your hesitant demeanor, you practically squandered a few hours of your very own time when you should be making haste, to avoid fucking thirst and hunger! And did it lead to anything? No, it fucking did not.]

With the boy angered, his arm graced the door with its presence, as he flung his right fist towards it. This was not a good choice to make, though he continued nonetheless.

Would it certainly hurt? Yes, it certainly would. But he was far too angry to take heed of it. His regrets could come later.

[SO WILL YOU STOP HESITATING YOU IGNORANT FOOL?!!!] His visor briefly flickered red, before it returned to its previous green. The change occurred within a split-second, and this prevented the boy from noticing it.

He also had many problems to begin with, such as his anger.

[OW!!!] He hit the door, simply and cleanly.

And.. the consequence was what one would expect, as his fist made contact with the wooden ingress. The sound of bones that shattered through, a battered grasp that burned with pain.

While his bones did not precisely shatter, the pain was enough to wake him from lividity. He let out a brief shriek of pain, but he quickly held his voice in.

There was little purpose for him to scream, other than to tire himself out.

He reined himself in, as he kept his voice down.

[Ooh... Ah...] With a stifled breath, he endured the rolling pain that came with his coice. [Bad idea...]

For minutes, he yearned to scream until eventually, the pain had subsided to a mere throb. It was an endurable, bearable pain that he could withstand now.

[Ow... ow... ow...] He held his aching hand afirm, for it genuinely stinged. While the hand moved with his will, it hurt to do so. [That was a terrible idea, ow.]

Only then did he realize just how foolish his actions were, as his hand remained frail against the brush of a wooden, timbered frame. The door was far too sturdy, or perhaps his fist was to blame for his failure.

Though it wasn't really a failure, as he only let his anger loose in a spur of the moment.

[Enough of that painful... memory.] He simply wanted to forget about the previous events, as he chose to focus on the painting. He now held it in his grasp.

[What's so special about this thing?]

Just as he saw earlier, the canvas illustrated a lunar sphere, as the moon carved into the empty, midnight heaven.

No stars shone in its background, the skies bereft of any luminary twinkle. Of the velvet sky, the moon stood on its own, a solitary sphere of stone that reflected the light of the sun.

From this lonely sight alone, he felt wistful for the heavenly body.

[Wait, enough.] He omitted himself from listening towards his emotions. [I'm being sentimental for some reason.]

The boy inspected the painting, only to discover than a transparent, glass-like substance shielded the artwork from dust and dirt. Its interior that held the canvas was perfectly preserved, with no filth present in its make.

Nothing interesting lay on its backside, with a frame made of normal wood. It simply stood as a base for the canvas to lie in, and it served no other purpose. While he found the frame to be somewhat loose, it did not move with his grip.

He tried to pry it open, to no avail.

[In other words, it's useless.] It was against his best interests to flare up once more, so he kept his emotions to a calm. It was useless, and there was nothing he could do.

[Har har, I weep.]

The boy restored the painting to where it once belonged; from when it hanged above the wooden door.

He had already resigned himself to going back. The throne room might have hidden other challenges for him to fulfil. At least, he hoped there to be.

While he did not appreciate the lack of any findings regarding his situation, there was nothing to be done. With no memory to remember, and no place to call home, he wasn't callous enough to lose his sanity.

This place already seemed like a prison for him. He would find a way outside, eventually.

[Well then, let's go back.] He turned away from the door, as he he glimpsed at the corridor's far end. He would be returning now, to where he first came from.

[I've nothing to do here anymore.]

A figure of black, whose disappointment was palpable to none but him, gently walked down the vacant passage. There was no need for him to remain where he was.

A silent stroll through the corridor, by the statuettes that he passed. A quiet amble, unhindered by canvas artworks, through the hallway that he walked. Towards the throne room he once roused in.

But there was a single slight with his situation, as the golden gate seems to have disappeared. In its place was a single wall that held nothing but stone.

The entrance was gone.

[I-I...] In a conflicted tone, he settled his doubts. He wouldn't be able to return now. Dumbfounded he might be, it wouldn't help to remain astonished. [It's gone.]

In a peculiar series of events, the entrace he sought to return for had vanished from where he once thought it to be. In its place was a single wall with which, in association of the hallway, had blended perfectly with the corridor.

As if the wall always existed in the first place, and that nothing strange seems to have occurred.

But the boy knew better than to trust this bizarre happenstance, as he remembered well where the entrance once was.

[That's it, I'm prodding the door again.] He grumbled, somewhat annoyed at his situation, as it did not make sense with him. [I'm getting more irritable at the second, dammit.]

The boy returned to the mahogany entrance, which stood with its silver handle. Nothing seems to have changed for it, what with the door knob still undeterred by his nudged attempts. It still didn't budge.

He then turned to the statues and paintings, idly erected in place.

The former were as stalwart as before, as they held their spears up high. With stony armor that draped its form, the figures lined the hallway with their cold presence. He searched these lifeless sculptures for any clues that might help help him.

Still, nothing.

As for the latter, it painted scenes of grief and pain. The canvas held sorrowful works that spoke of sorrow and despair, as it carried a message for him to see; that the moon was his enemy. It was strange, as he found nothing wrong with the lunar painting.

As of right now, he felt lost. He couldn't escape the corridor, as there was no place for him to escape towards.

[I'm tired.] The boy seated himself near a statue, as he lied by its side. [I'm not hungry, nor am I thirsty; just tired.]

Even as hours passed for him, his body did not seem to be affected much. He did not thirst for water, nor did he hunger for any sustenance. While his hand still ached, which he knew to be normal, the rest of his body was a mystery to him.

Throughout his strenous efforts of searching every fathomable location within the cofines of the corridor, he only felt tired. Yes, tired. He wanted to sleep.

[Maybe I should rest for a bit, hm.] He voiced his thoughts within the corner of his own world, as he contemplated on what to do. [Should I?]

The boy was enfeebled by his rigorous actions, as he scoured the corridor apace. So, it was natural for him to descend into exhaustion, just as he currently was.

And... the prospect of an unhindered rest where he would recuperate from his fatigue did warrant his notice, as he anticipated his freedom from activity and labor.

But the statues made him wary, as he couldn't escape their bitter gazes. They were lifeless, he knew that well. And yet, they felt ominous to him.

[These guys are creepy.] He had misgivings with the amenities he had been provided with; mainly of the stone statues, the sorrowful paintings, and a carpeted floor. But his desire to sleep took over.

[But I'm far too tired to care anyways, so....]

Even if he were to extend his waking state, it would only lead to him being exhausted more. He couldn't escape his imprisonment within the hallway, so there was no point in delaying further with his rest.

Even if the statues were to suddenly strike at him, he would have no way to escape. So, he should make use of his current state and rest.

[I shall go the fuck to sleep.]

Right then and there, he immediately fell to a deep slumber. In no more than a few seconds, he succumbed to his drowsiness. In a most amusing fashion at that, having uttered a ludicrous choice of words.

The green lines that served as his eyes had vanished from his visor, leaving the glassy box bare. The boy fell to the same state he once was, unmoving and lifeless.

But of course, it was how he appeared to be, even though he was alive and well.

[Zzz...] By some strange reason, his insensible breaths represented the onomatopoeic representation of snoring. How this occurred, no one may ever know.

And so he slept, slumbering on the pristine floor, without a care in the world. He remained still within his carpeted bed, as if the boy never moved at all. It was the first time that he rested ever since he woke up in this strange place.

A strange rumble occurred in the entire complex, engulfing the corridor in crumbling noise. Despite all of this, the boy did not wake up.

In his moment's reprieve, everything was to be calm... even though the boy drowned in a sea of chaos.