Enkauston Challenge ( Kylemor vs Ira )

"Long Live the Queen!” They shouted, banging their pots and pans, their nicks and knacks, in all their naive glory. Their eyes were alighted with the sharp arrow of hope, dragging a contradictory line against her internal despair. As they stomped about, she reticently watched them from her spot, unsure if she should proceed to offer them the saccharine poison that frequently flowed from her mouth; a twist of euphemism mixed with a plethora of lies, or to watch and comprehend what colors she needed to paint herself before she could be one of them.

Even after the idle thought, she didn’t move. Faithfully awaiting her friend, her eyes lit up delight when she saw him, his curved lips, and his shining eyes as he regarded her as one of his own.

“The Queen has arrived.” He gave her a mock bow as she giggled in childish delight, her face flushed pink from the banter and flattery he could summon swiftly upon a silver platter of words he patiently fed her every day. His hand gently reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, before the two rushed out of the place. The eudemonic pleasure that crept up upon her was displayed as the sweat on her brows, as she giggled and squeezed herself excitedly through the chimney, while her friend looked on approvingly.

It became a ritual—something so explicitly common that she hadn’t had any doubts about it. She would creep upon the sleeping figure with bated breath and feverish glee, before screaming a storm that would warrant a reaction that her friend could record. The two were the troublemakers of the town, and as people drove themselves insane attempting to figure out their way of breaking and entering, while the two resumed their little game, enthralled by the excitement of concealing a secret.

Letting out a scream that vaguely sounded like the cross between a strangled hamster and a constipated shark, she threw her small body onto the sleeping figure huddled up in his blankets; his eyebrows furrowed even in the grasps of sleep.

Springing up, the figure scowled at her and flipped on the light furiously, armed with the knowledge of her identity. His tousled hair was the least of his worries while he snatched at her, evidently annoyed.

“What the hell are you doing?” He demanded.

“I’m attacking you so that Raphael could capture you in his video!” She said, thrilled by the brilliancy of her plan, and the predictable fit she was certain that he would throw. Outside, Raphael dimpled at her and waved a camera about triumphantly. However, she was greeted by a blank stare and a question that left a stinging slap across her face.

“Who’s Raphael?” He narrowed his eyes.

“That one boy, right there!” She pointed.

She was tossed a blank stare and a polite invitation to the outside of the person’s house, as he murmured something under her breath. She sprung out to the freezing cold, as snowflakes caught themselves her tangled head of hair. Frowning slightly, she held Raphael’s hand and headed out to another house.

‘Who’s Raphael, chimney girl?” The 2nd woman asked, clearly amused by her futile attempts to frighten the said person.

“He’s right there!” She pointed once more, puzzled by their feigned ignorance.

“Raphael must be a fine boy.” The 3rd woman laughed disbelievingly as she combed her hand lovingly through tiny girl’s hair. “Why don’t you take some money-“, she placed a few coins in her hands. “The queen is here today, go and look at the parade and buy some candies.”

“Everyone is ignoring you.” She stated blandly as she was thrown out of the fourth house, with a hurried look and slammed door. Curling up at the foot of the house’s door, she reached out for his hand, as he stared at her with his amber eyes. He consented to her touching his hand, while he touched her forehead to his—a foudroyant move he hadn’t quite meant for her to prolong.

“It doesn’t matter.” He said lightly, significantly less disturbed by the reactions the two had gained. His eyes were unfocused, but he was still charmingly uxorious to her, indulging her with her ever demand while her head remained determinedly against his.

Shaking her head furiously, she ran away and scrambled up another house, panting slightly as she gripped tightly at the ladder she stole. The house was filthy, ravaged with the claws of time, while the once-brilliantly scarlet bricks reduced to a murky brown. Insects scuttled away from her grubby hands, and she allowed soft breaths to escape her mouth, with her body pressed tightly against the rough texture of the concrete. Pressing her fingers down, she heaved herself up with all her might, while the winds howled and attempted to lacerate her with their sharpness.

While she crawled pathetically at the side of the house, she thought of her life—how the city girl aura had reduced to ashes in favor of a grimy town girl, finding delights in minor things. Her head scrapped harshly against the walls, while she shifted her position to allow herself on the roof. Her hair finally submitted to the winds as the girl peered through the chimney and took a deep breath.

Falling down to the warm floor of the house, she continued crawling on her feet, through the door and began determining her next victim. Laughing loudly, she grinned when Raphael jumped in after her, his landing immensely more graceful than hers—something that she deeply envied. Reaching out for his hands once more, the two sneaked up to the sleeping figure, delighted to scare the said person one last time. His grip on her hand tightened, and as she pounced, her hands flew up and her body was hurled against the figure.

There was no figure.

The figure was no more than a mere pillow, thrown in as a blatant trap to bait her. What for—she did not know. She lay there uselessly, as doubts and inquiries possessed her expression. Her body was limp for a few minutes while she regarded the cloth before her, the smooth texture distracting her from the thumping in her heart.

She needed Raphael, she thought raggedly as the door burst open as her mouth released a loud howl of pain. What for—she did not know either. Each howl was louder than the last as light unfurled its wings and fluttered about the room, as beams after beams shone in a accusatory manner upon her, dancing about hysterically with energy.

Murmurs filled the room as she felt grip after grip on her neck, her head, her hands, and her legs while she struggled and howled for something—someone that nobody could quite see. Comforting cries reached her ears as words were thrown around the room, forcing her into a surreal state of haziness. Tears reached the brim of her eyes as they streamed down; congruent to her howls. Before the realization stumped her, words had reached her—mutters of asylums, murmurs of sympathy, and pitying glances that carried doubt. It crawled filthily upon her while she thrashed once more, desiring to cancel their words out of her head.

She was always the clown, eternally drugged by her own euphoria of a false paradise.