Hi, everyone. As I said at the Introduction Board, I've written a fanfic to post on. Actually, this is my first writing work in English, so I guess it has something looks weird or awkward. Feel free to point them out. I'm happy to refine my work!
It was the edifice of beauty, there collecting all the fruit of culture and civilization from all times and places. There was the entire world in it. Once the figures that filled the place have disappeared and the entrance gets locked, here comes the time of HERS.
Without even slight footsteps, she walks on the cold, milky marble floor. Her skin glows Pendelican white under the moonlight. While it were fixed route she takes every night, she seemed to enjoy her walk. Today, maybe I would go on that way. Thinking such trivial ideas.
She was strolling around a series of galleries; the room of marble colossi displaying their physical beauty, the room of golden coffins in which the ancient kings sleep dreaming resurrection, the room of Oriental philosophers where Buddha shows an archaic smile, and the room of tranquil prayer where medieval saints watch pious people. She climbed the stairway, as her golden locks bounced lively, and the train of her silky robe flapped.
The countless paintings hung on the walls were waited for her. There was hung a gorgeous history painting of a mythological scene on this wall, and there was hung a portrait of an enchanting lady on that wall. Lit by the pale light of emergency lamp, people in the paintings seemed like spirits from another world.
In the gallery composed of a series of small rooms without windows, she always lost direction. It was the labyrinth of beauty. Surrounded by innumerable masterpieces from all ages and places, she was walking around as if to stroll in the labyrinth with no exit.
She loved such imagination. Countless works of art, and a lonely midnight-walk looking around them…, what a privilege she had! She didn’t have deep understanding of arts. Even so, the beautiful pieces collected from all over the world always pleased her eyes. “Beauty” was the only value she knew in this world, for she was not allowed to go out of there however she wanted.
Here was everything of the world, and for her, everything of her world was here.
She came to the indoor sculpture garden. Lit by the moonlight from the glass ceiling, clear water was continuously gushing from the indoor fountain. She sat on the edge of fountain, which sparkled reflecting the moonlight. Stretching her slender leg, her figure cast a shadow upon the marble flooring. While holding her knee in her arms, she idly listened to the water flowing down.
She was resting in that posture, until she caught sight of a strange object, which seemed rectangular and a little bit larger than her palm. Getting interested in it, she stood up and approached it. When she picked up the stuff, she found it a small notebook with brown cover. Seeing no name or title on its plain cover, she opened it with slight curiosity, and then, she widened her eyes in amazement.
Every page in the book was filled up with small letters, charts and illustration. In the center of each pages, might be a copy of paintings, there occupied a rectangular picture that was not quite skillfully but deliberately drawn, and a lot of tiny notes were scribbled in the margin. Enormous amount of marks, arrows and underlines, which probably makes no sense to anyone else, so overwhelmed her that she felt dizzy, just like a deluge of information. Turning pages over pages, she found all the pages were crowed up alike. To complete the all pages, how many artworks got observed? And how long it took? It was hard for her to even imagine that.
She was turning over the pages with her thin fingers, until she stopped at a page, finding something on it. There was a drawing of a marble statue sculptured by an ancient artist. That represented a figure of young woman, loosely draped with a sheer toga, her eyes contemplating at somewhere far away. Around the drawn figure, there scribbled a lot of notes just as other pages.
She faintly smiled, as she realized who drew the figure. HE visits this museum from time to time. Having a pen and a notebook in his hands, he walks hurriedly among the artworks. When he finds something interesting, he stays in front of it for hours, and starts to write letters in the pages enthusiastically. Even if people pass by see him as weird, he doesn’t care about anything other than the artwork. At that moment, nothing exists in his world except for him and the art.
Indeed, she has saw him dedicating himself to the work several times. On one day she could see him from a distance, and on another she could see it nearby. She knew she had a certain feeling toward him, which was different from one toward others. But she haven’t know how she could call it, the feeling that occurs while thinking about him, yet.
She embraced the notebook in her bosom. Is he looking for this, ordinary but indispensable notebook for him? Is he feeling sad? She wanted to bring it to him, if she could. She knew she couldn’t, though.
Will he visit here to look for this? Will he make it? Will he come here again, tomorrow?
I , simply, miss him.
Tons of visitors filled up the one of the largest museums in the world.
A young man was trudging around the “Greek and Hellenistic Gallery”, where the marble sculptures are displayed. Searching for something, his eyes were deliberately scanning the white flooring. However, his facial expression seemed to almost give up. He had visited the lost and found, and walked through everywhere he might have dropped it, but he hadn’t found the valuable one for him yet.
All of sudden, his eyes discovered a familiar shape, a small notebook with brown cover on pedestal of a statue. He rushed to the statue and picked up the book. Turning over the pages, he found all the pages were filled with tiny letters. It was definitely his notebook.
As putting the book into his bag with brightened eyes, he looked up to the statue on the pediment. It was a sculpture of ancient goddess, in the shape of a young woman, which was not so famous one as not to appear in guidebooks. Not so many people did stop to look at her.
For the young man, however, she was strangely attractive. In fact, it was more likely seductive than attractive. A figure of young woman draped with a toga had a sort of dignity as a goddess. At the same time, though, he sensed a kind of sensuality of living human in her body. As if it oozed through the solid shell of marble, that sense charmed him as the irresistible force. Indeed, he had stopped at the front of her and drawn her figure in his note eagerly before.
The young man got puzzled. He didn’t visit this room yesterday, when he had lost the book, and he neither came to this statue. He started to observe her carefully. Her eyes, having no pupils, seemed to look at somewhere in the distance, or nowhere. He couldn’t read any feelings from her eyes.
She did never say anything, and never give an answer to his question. But her white face showed, he thought, a slightly different expression than before, that of joy, relief or so.
The young man was contemplating HER face for a while. And then, he whispered a word, in a low, soft voice that no one else could hear than HER.
“Thank you, Venus.”