[Or] [ZuNo] Last Wishes

Last Wishes

Chapter One

Daniel Mendel awoke in his apartment. His clothes were wet, and his duvet sodden. He had been sleep walking again. He pulled himself from the bed, his pyjamas making a horrid squelching as they separated from the bed cover. Dan rested his elbows against his knees, rubbing his eyes awake. He couldn’t remember the previous night. He knew he hadn’t been drinking. He never did. Slowly, he lifted himself to his feet and trod over to his bedroom door.

Mendel looked into the kitchen; the place was a mess. Dirty plates were scattered all over the room, thrown inconsiderately into any space that would harbour them, willingly or else ways. Some were broken. Fragments of porcelain lay, in some cases, metres away from their fellow shards. Rubbish, like the broken plates, coated the room, lodging itself in the tiniest of cracks. The one thing that somehow managed to stay free of rubbish, or dirt of any sort for that matter, was the bin. Dan had been meaning to get some help in to do the cleaning but hadn’t quite got around to it. His colleague Mark Fitzgerald had even given him the number of a very efficient Latvian woman.

Shifting his way through the mounds of filth he edged towards the fridge. He swung the metallic door open. Empty as usual. A single slice of cheese was the grand continence of the splendid €150 refrigerator. Dan had gone shopping at the beginning of the week. He soon realized that readymade meals couldn’t keep a man fed for an entire week, especially if that man enjoyed second helpings. By Thursday he was already out of his vital supply of pizza and instant meals. He had since then resorted to Dominos Pizza and Chinese takeaways. Last night’s double cheese and pepperoni had left its mark on the sofa. A rather greasy slice had eluded Mendel’s grasp and was now lying against the armrest. It didn’t seem to want to move. It was a good thing Daniel Mendel rarely got visitors, for the smell of even that single piece of pizza would turn even the most tolerant of noses.

Dan, still in his drenched garments, sat down upon the leather sofa. His green eyes turned briefly towards the slice of pizza. The cheese had slid forward from its greasy rest, leaving the tomato-covered base open to the eyes and mouths of several rather large, unpleasant flies. Were it not for Dan’s present discomfort, due to the current saturation of his pyjamas, he may have been tempted to challenge the pizza to battle of guts. Man against food. Mendel rose from the sofa, his eyes still locked on his slimy temptress. Tearing himself away, he entered into the small, surprisingly clean, bathroom.

Daniel Joseph Mendel was a complex man to say the least. I doubt even his closet friends would have ever scratched the surface of that complexity. He could have been described as many things. On the outside he seemed no different from anyone else, it was what was inside that made him somewhat extraordinary. Some slight defect in his personality made him ingenious yet, at the same time, utterly incomprehensible. He was simply a man of black and white. For Dan there was nothing in between. Everything he did could only ever go two ways; perfectly or horribly.

At this moment in time, Daniel was making a mockery of a fairly standard task. He was hopping about the bathroom, trying with all his might to escape the confines of his sopping wet garments. The icy pyjama bottoms had a death like grip around his left leg. With one final grunt of effort, he broke free, falling against the tiled wall in the process. Dan lifted himself from the floor, rubbing his throbbing head. He pulled open the glass doors of his shower and stepped inside, placing his hand on the cool shower knob. A stream of lukewarm water screeched through the pipes and cascaded down atop him.

A pair of callused hands brushed through Dan’s hair, his skilful fingers searching out and knots. His hair was dark, curly too. He lifted his face to the stream of water, letting it run down his cheeks. Daniel, for all his disorganization and inability of maintaining a clean apartment, was a man with several strict routines. Every morning began the same.

It started off with a scavenger hunter, searching out any morsels of food that may have been hidden in the nooks and crannies of the apartment. After this fruitless rummaging, Daniel had a long shower. The average wash time was upwards of half of an hour. His daily morning shower was one of Daniel’s favourite things. He hated having to get out of the warmth of his snug bed, the transition from dreamland to reality was made somewhat easier by the knowledge that his shower was waiting for him, ready to pour life back into his empty shell. On one or two occasions, the apartment’s heating system had failed, forcing Daniel to bathe in icy waters. Whenever that happened, the rest of the day always went downhill.

Now as I was saying, Daniel was took his morning routine very seriously. After finishing in the shower, he wondered the living room naked, searching out any scraps of remotely clean clothing that he could find. He threw on whatever his hands came across. Sometimes he began by wrapping a jumper around his freezing self, other times it was his feet that were the first to find sanctuary from the cold, finding refuge in the form of a pair of socks, an odd pair more often than not. The final item of clothing was always the same dark brown coat. It was large and comfortable, reaching down to Daniel’s knees which, considering his height was quite a length. It had a heavy, warm look to it though he wore it even in summer. It had never been washed.

Daniel’s first task upon dressing himself was a trip down to the chipper. He was a regular at Jack’s Fries. It might not have been the healthiest of breakfasts, but it was better than the rotting slice of pizza on the sofa. At least the walk was refreshing. After receiving his brown paper bag of fat filled chips and chatting a while with Jack, the old fella that ran the chipper, Dan would walk down to Stephen’s Green. It was always good to take a look at the competition.

Every day, early in the morning, the artists gathered. The fences and benches were always coated in their work. You could find anything there. There were paintings, sculptures, tapestries and much more. Some of them were simply fine pieces of art, others masterpieces and the rest, quite frankly, worthless. Anyone had the right to display their work here. It was a public place.

On one particular day, well before Daniel himself began to paint he had spent hours walking through the paintings and pieces of art. He could feel destiny calling to him, urging him to find it. It was on that day that he had found himself inspired to take up a new life. A single painting had transformed him.

It was an oil piece painted in thick, vibrate layers. It was a portrait of a young woman. She was wearing a black dress, elegantly flowing in the wind. A tall oak tree was in the background, its leaves golden in the rising sun. The woman’s face was stunning; there was no other word for it. Her cheekbones were high, her lips rosy and her eyebrows slender. Her auburn hair seemed to move in the wind, even in its paint-encased form. Her hazel eyes glittered mysteriously.


Word Count: 1,287. This chapter shall be continued in my next post. I thought I might as well post what I had so far.

*warning there shall be swearing and possibly adult themes from here on.*

Chapter One continued...

Seeing that woman, so alive on that canvas convinced him to begin painting. When he was a young lad, just finishing off in secondary school, his art teacher had told him he should think about going to Art College. He had found it a laughable prospect at the time. He had considered the life of an artist far from desirable. Back then, his only motivation was the money. He wanted to be rich. He had decided to enter into a Law course in Trinity College. After spending nearly six years getting his degree, he found his life in a pitiful state. He had done nothing with it but study. He had few friends and no social life worth mentioning. He then dropped his Law studies. Since then, Daniel had done still little with his life but at least he had gained some close friends. He felt more alive than he had in a long time.

And so, after that day in Stephen’s Green, he began to paint. He did little else. Where he worked and when he worked varied. Sometimes he would sit in Stephen’s Green shopping centre, drawing portraits for anyone and everyone, other times he’d walk down to the River Liffey, working by its banks. When he started, he was working as a barman on the side. A little pub off of Merrion Square employed him. As his passion for painting increased, he decided to leave his job, living purely off the money his work made him, little though it may have been.

Today, Daniel was due to open his first exhibition.

The shower doors slide back open. Dan hopped out, quickly drying himself off with a coarse towel. He glanced at his watch. He never took it off. The big hand was pointing to the one, and the little one to twelve. He swore at the little set of glow in the dark hands.

He was running late.

Daniel raced out of the bathroom, grabbing his best clothes from his bedroom cupboard. They rarely got used. His suit consisted of a pair of chino trousers and a simple, black jacket. He threw on a white, formal shirt for good measure. He had no time to spare. He was due in the gallery at twelve thirty. He tore a tie out from his bedside table drawer and fastened it roughly around his neck. He ran across his apartment, striding of the mounds of litter. Within a second, he was out the door, rocketing down the three floors worth of stairs. The lift was too slow.

He arrived at Oisin’s Gallery no early than twelve twenty, exhausted, sweating and out of breath. Not really how he would have liked to be presented at his first exhibition. Tom White, the gallery owner came out to greet him, taking him by the arm and leading him inside.

“Jesus Christ, Tom, I thought I wouldn’t make it.”

“Not to worry, Dan. We’re just settin’ up the final bits now.” Tom laughed. He was well used to unorganized artistic types. He’d been dealing with them for near to twenty years.

A bell rang through the gallery as Tom pushed the front door open. One of the employees, Sarah Moore skipped over to the pair.

“Ah Dan, overslept again? You really gotta sort that out,” She was a young woman, in her early twenties one would guess. “Here, come on into the bathroom. You’ll need to clean yourself up a bit before the buyers arrive.”

“Thanks, Sarah.” Daniel replied between gasping breaths, letting the blonde drag him into the toilets. She turned to him, grabbing a towel from one of the racks that lined the room. She started dabbing his forehead dry.

“You ran it, did ya?”

“Yeah, all the way from Nassau Street. Public transport just ain’t reliable anymore.” Sarah had taken her hand away from him, he set his hands on one of the sinks. He loosened his tie a bit. “****in’ hell, I really need to go to the gym more.”

“Well, you are looking a bit flabby.” She gave him a poke in the ribs, laughing.

“Oy, none of that please. Do I really deserve it?”

“Nah, I just like making fun of you. It’s easy to do too.”

“Well, today it’s serious face time.” Daniel looked at Sarah for a minute. They had gone out for a while a few months back. It hadn’t really worked out, but they were still good friends. She was going out with a banker called Hamilton now.

“You’re no fun.”

They left the bathroom, walking back up the stairs to the main parlour. Dan readjusted his tie as he walked. He glanced at his watch again. It was nearly half twelve. A few people had already started to wander in. The room was filled with his works. It was a strange almost eerie feeling to be surrounded by his paintings. He was rather attached to a lot of them. He’d be said to see them go.

Mr. White was wandering over towards Sarah and Dan. She wished him luck, then drifted away to greet some of the customers. Tom whispered in Daniel’s ear.

“There’s someone over here who’d very much like to meet you. He’s particular interested in one painting. The Swans.”

“Alright, lead the way.”

Daniel had never been too fond of the Swans. It hadn’t come out how he wanted it to. Every time he looked at he felt an urge to rip it from the wall, stick it on his workbench and completely redo it. However, the publicists seemed to think it was possibly his best work yet. They said it had “great passion and love in it”. He had never intended to portray love. He hated swans.

The painting sat across the room, an elderly gentleman was inspecting it closing. Tom introduced him as Mr. Collins. It was clear he was a regular at Oisin’s .

“So this is Mr. Mendel. You are quite the artist.” Mr. Collins’ voice exuded poshness.

“Thank you, sir. Your compliment means a lot to me.”

“You are most welcome. Now, I was curious, just what medium did you use for this painting? The name plate seems to say it was done in acrylics but I would swear it looks like oil.”

“Well, it’s actually a bit of a mix. Mainly, it’s acrylic. I like to use it in large quantities. It often comes out looking like oil.”

“Ah yes! I see, I see. Very interesting indeed.”

Daniel rolled his eye interiorly. He hated dealing with these upper-class art snobs. They thought they knew it all.

Mr. Collins began to speak again, “And the Swans themsel-”

Daniel didn’t hear the rest. Someone had caught his eye. A young woman had just entered the building. She had long, auburn hair. It reached down to just below her shoulders. She was a wearing a pair of simple jeans and a casual t-shirt. She stood out instantly among the formal attire worn by all the other investors. She was looking around at the paintings in wonder. Admiring their beauty, not their price as must others did. A nudge from Tom brought Daniel’s attention back.

“Daniel, Mr. Collins was just asking about the Swans feather like texture. Perhaps you could enlighten him.” He said it harshly. He was Daniel’s employer after all.

“Sorry, sorry, my mind was just wandering a bit. Yes, the texture. It was created mainly with a palette knife. I find it to be a very useful tool at times.”

Mr. Collins was about to start again. Daniel broke in again before he could. “Could you excuse me for just a minute? I’m very sorry but I need to use the bathroom.”

“Not to worry. We can continue this splendid conversation later. I’m sure Mr. White will try to sell me another painting while I wait for your return.”

Tom let a slightly forced laugh, grinning uncomfortably. “You know me too well, Richard.”

Daniel snuck off. He received an irritated glance from the gallery owner on his retreat. He gazed around the room, looking for the redhead. Finally, he spotted her. She was on the far side of the room, looking carefully at a painting titled “Morning”. It was one of Dan’s favourites. It showed his apartment, messy as ever. He had painted it a month beforehand. No one had been too interested in it. It lacked the “elegance” of some of his other pieces. He tiptoed over to the woman, popping up beside her. She hadn’t realized him yet. She was too engrossed in the painting.

“Can I help you, madam?”

She spun suddenly, her hazel eyes full with surprise. “Hmm? Oh sorry, I didn’t see you there.”

“That’s my fault, I couldn’t help myself sneaking over. Do you like the painting?”

Her face lit up, full of delight. “Yes! It’s fabulous. I love the fact that it’s so natural. The rest of this guy’s stuff seems a bit... fake.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

“Like, look at that one of there,” She motioned to a painting a little further down the wall. It was a picture of a half dressed woman lying across a bed. “Come on, what was he thinking when he painted that?”

“I was thinking her breasts were too big for art.”

The woman did a double take. “Oh god. You’re the artist? I’m so sorry.”

Daniel laughed. He had admired her shameless honesty. “Don’t worry about it. Some of the stuff in here is crap. It’s what sells though. I have to make a living. Say, what made you come into the gallery? You don’t look like one of the regulars.”

She seemed to relax a little, glad not to have offended Daniel. “I saw this painting through the window. I thought I’d have a better look at it.”

“I wish the art world had more customers like you. I much prefer painting this kind of scene than that other staged garbage. What did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t. It’s Jane.”

There was a tap on Daniel’s shoulder. He turned, finding Sarah standing behind him. She looked at him worriedly. “Dan, the customers all want to meet you. You might do well to spend a bit more time with them.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just give me a second.” He looked back to Jane. She was gone.



word count: 3,015

This is fabulous! It's so polished and thorough. And despite what you said in the Discussion thread, I find it very interesting.

Ask, and you shall receive.

… Several days late, true, but that's a minor point we'll ignore.

I really enjoy how well you sketch detail, how it's not just "help in housekeeping", but "a very efficient Latvian woman", how it's not merely take out but "Dominos Pizza and Chinese takeaways". That attention gives such voice to the writing, a voice that extends into your protagonist. I like the nod at Daniel's complexity, how you both tell the reader of it and show him (her, indeed).

I know there's the usual adage governing the writer's craft: show, don't tell. But there are only so many things a writer can show without bogging down the reader, and I think you've struck a fine balance between the two modes of writing. There were a few times when I was jolted by the omniscient voice - where things are revealed out of natural sequence, where we're first in Daniel's POV, then glancing at the world through the POV of another - but I think you handle the story and the angle from which we view it quite well (though I will admit, that pronoun "I", after you mentioned how complex a man Daniel is, felt incongruous, as though that occasional omniscient voice has suddenly taken form as "that narrator character").

I really liked the humour in "The Swans" scene, but Daniel speaking with Jane felt a bit bland, in that their conversation and everything that went in/came out of it was easy to predict: she's a different kind of customer, he's amused by her honesty, et cetera. I'm curious, however, to know what happens next, for though while I am doubting Jane has the speed of vampire and that's the reason behind her disappearance, I do want to know about the remainder of Daniel's day and her influence on him, what comes of that influence, if anything - in a word (a repeated word), whatever happens next!

So, here's to hoping I don't sound like Mr. Collins and any new installments to this piece!

Selah