Title: "Twink Descending a Staircase"
Author: Mala
E-mail: malisita@yahoo.com
Fandom: QAF-US
Rating/Classification: PG-13, Justin pov, second person, future ficlet. Disclaimer: CowLip owns him, not I.
Summary: Some things really are forever young. And some things really aren't.

You went through a Cubist phase at twenty-six. And those paintings are part of your most famous period of work. Critics still rave about your bold use of colors and sexual imagery. You heard one of the collection went at Christie's for $542, 000 just last week. They had a black and white print of it in the Arts section of the Sunday paper and while your artist's eye glared at the shoddy print quality, your far more internal gaze noted the sharp angles, the profile of cheek and hipand jutting cock.

You privately called that particular piece of work "Asshole in Red", remembering how the image in the forefront of your mind wasn't fractured bits of a beautiful body but your own hands stained with rose petals and blood.

Your hands are claw-like now. The spasms and the arthritis from a long-ago attack have taken their toll and you can barely hold a fork to feed yourself much less control a paintbrush or click a mouse. But if you look closely, you think you can see a legion of tiny scars from thorns, mapping your palms with new lines.

When you were nineteen, still eons away from your Cubist phase and your Impressionist phase and your Post-Post Pre-Raphaelite phase, you thought the value of your hands lay in what they had touched. A young violinist...an arrogant ad executive...an anonymous ass in the back of a club.

That was your collection. Lovers.

Your paintings have lasted longer.

Will last long after you, yourself, are gone.

You think, perhaps, that the day you cut your skin on roses, on heartbreak and youth, you extended a lifeline...for something far more resilient than you.

But then you curve your fingers around the handle of the mirror and raise it... catch the sharp blue eyes that still dominate your face...and you think, perhaps, you're far more resilient than you gave yourself credit for.

Before your Cubist phase and your Impressionist phase and your Post-Post Pre-Raphaelite phase, you had your Brian Kinney phase. Your worst period of work.

You always wondered why there is a famous painting called "Nude Descending a Staircase" where there is neither a nude nor a staircase. But you suppose that it is the same principle behind having a love story where there was neither a love nor a story.

You think, perhaps, that the day you cut your skin on roses, on heartbreak and youth, you extended a lifeline...for something far more resilient than you.

Your memory.

And it will last long after you, yourself, are gone.

 

--end--

April 28, 2003.



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