The Painted Purpose

Adora pranced down the rusty cobble stone road made completely from paint on one of the most beautiful days of the season. The painted sky swished and curled in clashing waves of bright blues and pearly white. But this display was cut by the golden yellow paint strokes of the sun. Though, the sun barely could surpass the kind of radiant smile sketched across Adora’s face. She felt the wind gently blow against her before washing into her hair of twisted red paint. She danced across the road with her hair swaying like an explosive splash of blush crimson. Her blue dress skipped along with her, without a speck to taint its vibrant paint. She was too busy to get dirty. She had purpose about her agenda today.

“Buongiorno, little one!” came the greeting.

Adora opened her eyes to find a lengthy looking man fabricated from stokes of greys and browns with a slender, but pleasant face given life by blush cheeks. He had greying hair drawn out with smooth lines and a happy workers cap to top it.

“Buongiorno, Mister.” Adora answered meeting the man on the road.

“What brings a kind spirited young lady to these lands today?”

“I’m here,” she stated, “for I heard of a town that’s this way over the green hills and past water-colored rivers.”

The older man gave a toothy smile before backing up and stretching his hand created from paint out to display a beautiful portrait behind.

Bellow, where the road bends down to emerald hills and earthy foam farmlands, sat a small town built of dusty browns and classical buildings. A pleasant looking town though not exactly what Adora had expected. In her mind she imagined this town to be more vibrant.

“Behold the town of Pellegrina. Beautiful, isn’t it?” the old man said proudly.

“Yes, sir. It is quite pleasant to look at.”

“Of course, it is,” he chuckled, “but what brings you to Pellegrina in the first place?”

Adora raised her finger up confidently to answer.

“I’m looking for my purpose. I want to find out who painted me, who created me.”

“Oh, are you now?”

Adora nodded emphatically.

“And how do you know you were painted by someone if you don’t know who painted you?” the old man wondered.

Adora tapped her finger to her pursed red shaded lips.

“I don’t know,” she found herself admitting, “I suppose I had to be painted by someone. Look at my feet. Look at my hands. Look at the sky. Look at that town. It just had to be painted. It looks too beautiful not to be, and I would like to find out who did it. Maybe I can find out why they painted me.”

The old man said nothing more other than that it sounded like a worthy purpose. He gave Adora some directions at her asking and the two of them departed down their separate ways.

Down Adora frolicked, sung, and danced. She cut through a grassy field which danced with her. She skipped splashes of jade green paint from the grass. She was then stopped by a group of people that all wore an arrangement of funny clothing colored in bright pinks, golds, yellows, and reds.

They too asked Adora of her reason of passing through and she confidently answered with her mission of finding the one that painted her. The funny looking people then whispered excitedly to each other.

“We know who painted you?” answered one.

“Really!” Adora pipped.

“Si! Si! Come and we will show you.”

With a thrill of excitement bolstering her, she followed the funny looking people down to a road which led to a small hill. At the very top of this hill was a statue collected to together in a mess of dull greys and slated colors. It really wasn’t vibrant at all. It seemed less like a creation of art and more of something void of life. Adora thought they would continue on but to her amazement the group stopped and began to dance and skip before this dull statue.

“I do not understand?” Adora said.

One of the funny dressed people came to explain.

“Why this is the one that painted you of course. His name is Fabricatus. Come. Are you not going to play and dance to it with us?”

Bewildered, Adora took a step back.

“How could something that was painted paint us? That’s no Painter. That’s something painted?”

“It did paint us.” one answered. “It’s what my father believed, then his father, then his father. Thus, Fabricatus had to have painted us and you have to believe it too.”

Adora took another step back. The looks these people where giving her didn’t look pleasant at all. In fact, something shifted. Their smiles grew to hostile glares. They looked as if they meant Adora hurt.

Suddenly a tall man swooped in and escorted Adora swiftly out of there before anything could be done. Adora breathed a sigh of relief. The man that swept her out of danger was tall and pencil like. His shape was sharp outline by pencil marks that etched his papery brown suit in contrast to the paints around him. The paint on his face seemed worn underneath his sharp combed mustache. He wore a boulders hat and had a funny looking monocle sitting on his face.

“Thank you so much, Sir.” Adora thanked as they got farther and farther away from the strange people. It looked like no one followed them.

“Oh, well don’t mention it.” The stranger said in a refined tone. “Those simple-minded smudges.” He clicked his tongue “Can you believe it? Dancing before a rock. Rubbish I tell you. You have no business mixing your paint with folk that.”

“They do seem pretty confused.” Adora admitted as they walked down the hill. “I was sure they were going to help me find who painted me.”

“Oh, you seek to find how you were painted?” the penciled man said, raising a pointed eyebrow.

“Oh, yes. Do you know?”

The tall man smiled.

“Well of course I do. But I’m getting ahead of myself. My name is Professor Morio. Though I’m sure you’ve heard of me. Yes. I know. It can be quiet overwhelming, but I assure you meeting a hero of science is nothing to be daunted at.”

“Pleased to meet you, Pro. Morio. Though I’m afraid I’ve never heard of you. I apologize. You said you know who painted me?”

Pro. Morio sputtered, seemingly caught completely off guard “You never heard of… “ he paused, “Well, you see Miss Adora I never said I know who created you but what.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’m sure you don’t.” Pro. Morio said, twisting his mustache between his sketched fingers. “It’s very complex. It takes only one of the most superb of minds to grasp the realities of this nonsensical universe. But I’ll make it simple for you to understand. Simply put: you were an accident.”

Adora’s face twisted.

“What! What do you mean?”

“Well, you see. Long ago, now please don’t ask how long as it’s too big of a concept to explain, but long ago there was nothing. Just a blank canvas. And then a giant blob of paint dropped out of the sky. It splashed into the canvas and then, Valicomo! We were all painted!”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Of course, it does.”

“You mean the river, the fish that live in the river, the fishermen who catch the fish. All an accident!”

“Si.”

“The sky. The sun. All of this art around us.”

“Si.”

“You mean to tell me that my hands, my feet, my eyes, my hair. All came from an accident.”

“Si.”

“You mean. I don’t have a purpose.” Adora said, realizing. Her shoulders sunk, as her paint started to dampen in color. Her hair no longer as brilliant.

“Si, again.”

“How do you know?”

“Science.”

“Can you prove it then if it is science?” Adora asked, with a sliver of hope.

Pro. Morio laughed.

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. Science is not meant to be proven. That’s not how it works. Science is when men of higher intelligence, like me for example, tell you of these findings and you can just believe them. How spectacular is that!”

“No. No.” Adora cried. “It can’t be true.”

“It is.” Whispered a new voice.

Adora turned to find someone new standing there. A girl, or at least what probably looked like a girl, only that she was missing half her face.

One half of her face looked to be the round head of a young girl about Adora’s age. Meanwhile, the other half was completely smudged and scraped causing her to be missing an eye. The girl’s hair was a blended mess of mixing colors. They muddled together till they were nothing more but mucky black and browns. Some colors of bright yellow or red snuck out between the mess but it looked tainted and sickened.

The strange girl looked at Adora with a haunted look.

“Oh, Perdita.” Pro. Morio said. “So, nice of you to join us.”

Adora gulped.

“I apologize. But I think you might be sick. Your face, it looks…”

“What? Perdita hissed. “What’s wrong with my face?”

“Well, I don’t know if you see. But it looks like it’s been disfigured.”

“It’s not disfigured!” Pro. Morio gasped. “How dare you say such a thing?”

“Excuse me?” Adora asked weakly.

“I did this.” Perdita said.

“Why?”

The girl with her paint twisted shrugged.

“I didn’t like how I looked. No one in the town did really. So, just changed. What does it matter?”

“I’m sure you looked quite beautiful. Maybe the others in the town were wrong.”

Perdita shook her head.

“How could I be beautiful? It was all a mistake anyway. Just as Pro. Morio says.”

“Righty’O”

“In fact,” Perdita said, eyeing Adora. “I think you could use some changing. That hair is such an eye sore. How could something be that red?”

Adora clung to her hair.

“That face too.” Pro. Morio pipped in. “My dear, maybe you should consider changing your look. I know Perdita here might have paint scrapper on hand.”

Before Pro. Morio could say so much as another word, Adora ran. She ran and ran. She sprinted across the roads trying to hold back the tears. Trying to tell herself that she had a purpose. But if they really were just all from an accident, then that would mean that she was a mistake. That would mean she was purposeless.

Not paying attention, she tripped on a rock and crashed down the road. Her paint scrapped as the dust settled. She looked down at a puddle to see her face, streaming with tears. Her face was covered in smudges from her fall. Underneath those smudges on her cheeks, was a face that was not beautiful but a mistake. A face that was worthless, meaningless.

She wept digging her face into her sleeve. She huddled close to the tree that sat beside the beaten road, still wrapping her face within herself.

“I’m a mistake,” she breathed. “I have no purpose.”

She didn’t know how long she was there. Hours maybe. What bother was it to get back up? She was in a world where nothing matters. Where she didn’t matter. What was the point to any of it then?

Footsteps clopped beside her on the road. Perhaps it was Pro. Morio and Perdita. But to her surprise, it wasn’t either of their voices that spoke.

“Buongiorno. Why are you huddle down here, daughter?” came a soft, gentle voice.

Adora squeezed closer inside. Keeping her eyes shut.

“Because I’m a mistake.” She sniffled.

“You’re not a mistake, Adora.”

“How do you know and wait? How do you know my name?”

“Because I’m the one who painted you.”

Adora brushed the tears from her eyes to find and old man standing there. Only, to her surprise, he was not made from paint. His skin was like leather and his face, though not painted, still radiated with the brightest smile Adora has ever seen. There was something about that smile. It somehow offered warmth that wrapped around Adora. The man’s hair was crown of silver. He wore clothes that could only belong to a craftsman, but he also had an apron that was stained with and assortment of colors.

“You painted me?” Adora asked.

With glint to his eyes and a dimpled smile, he nodded.

“Yes, Adora. From the bottom of your graceful feet to the top of your rosy hair. I made you with every detail.”

Adora’s heart fluttered.

“Then, what’s my purpose? Why did you paint me?”

The old man chuckled with a booming but meek laugh.

“Why wouldn’t I? You’re a masterpiece Adora. A masterpiece that I take pride in. Your beauty is a testament of my work. You are an art work that keeps giving glory to her Painter. I painted you because you are my adored, precious masterpiece.”

The clouds seem to part as the sun glowed in the sky. But Adora didn’t need the sun to feel a radiant light beam with in her. Her paint retuned to its natural, brightened color.

Her red hair then swished back as she lunged forward and took her Painter in an embrace. His warmth enveloped her. Covered her as she felt something fill a gaping whole inside. For the first time ever, Adora felt purposeful. She felt filled.

How could she not be filled in the embrace of her Great Painter?

Latin Names

Adora = Adored

Morio = Fool

Fabricutus = illusion, fabrication

Perdita = lost

Pelligrina = pilgrim

The Painted Purpose