As Alive As A Dead Tree

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“HAPPY NEW YEAR.”

As the clock struck midnight, a brand new year lied ahead. Lucius and Kenzo stood high above the city skyline in the penthouse provided by Kenzo’s father, as the sky was adorned with blazes of fireworks.

“Cheers”, Kenzo ecstatically yelled, raising his empty champagne glass towards Lucius, the abundance of alcohol he’s consumed clearly heard in the cadence of his voice.

“Okay, okay, looks like you’ve had more than enough for one lifetime”, Lucius replied, grabbing his arm and lowering him onto the furniture set on the terrace.

Blaring music and flashing neon lights painted the interior of the suite, the silhouettes of people celebrating the night away left shadows on the walls. School classes resumed the following week, however that thought had not entered the mind of anyone in attendance.

“Mmm, I’m good, I’m good”, Kenzo slurred, his eyes trying to decide if they wanted to stay open or closed. “Angie, where's Angie?”

“Angie went home, remember? I think she’s still upset about yesterday, she just grabbed her bag and left.”

“I love-e her, tell her I l-l-love her”, Kenzo quietly mumbled, his eyes finally deciding that they wanted to stay shut for a while.

Lucius let him be and stood up, walking over towards the edge of the terrace. He glanced down at the view from the 60th floor, watching the streets below as the few passersbys became indistinguishable from ants. At his eye level, the view of the cities horizon lit up the sky like an artificial sunrise. The city that never sleeps, that statement being more true at that moment than ever before. As the glistening lights from advertisements and occupied apartments bounced off the glass panels from the monstrous skyscrapers, the air filled with a sense of peace. The cool breeze of January was welcomed, chilling the warmth leftover from a night of partying. Regardless of the late hour, Lucius didn’t feel an ounce of exhaustion.

“I'm going for a walk”, he said to himself more than Kenzo, carefully stepping over passed out bodies and broken bottles as he made his way through the suite and towards the elevators. “Don’t wait up for me.”

As he entered the marble hallway, stepping out of the elevator was a stoic figure dressed in a tailored black suit, the deep fabric absorbing the light rather than reflecting it. The man stood tall over Lucius, his golden hair and cleanly shaved face alluding him to the likes of a Roman Emperor.

“Oh hi, Mr. Cavalli, I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight.”

“Yes Lucius it is rather late. Where is my son?”

“Kenzo, he had a bit much…” Lucius trailed off. “I think he fell asleep.”

“Yes, yes, of course. My only son, never failing to make his father proud.”

With an unamused look on his face, Mr. Cavalli walked towards the entrance of the suite. As he placed his cold hand on the golden door knob, he turned back to Lucius and nodded to the windows down the hall.

“Be careful out there Lucius. Always remember, it’s just you and the world.”

With that, Mr. Cavalli stepped into the suite, letting the brightness from the neon lights glaze over him before making his way through the strobing room.

***

As Lucius rode the elevator down to the ground floor, he looked at the glass panels lining the interior. The bright lights shining from above drew a deep contrast between the dark clothes draped over his figure, a yin and yang created upon the reflective walls. Moving towards the closest mirror and aligning his eyes right up against the glass, he stared into the emerald irises staring back at him, tempting the man in the mirror. The reflection’s black hair was thick and a little unkempt, a regular gust of wind styling it more often than a comb. Dark brows sat low over his crystalline eyes, eyes that had seen too much, or maybe just look backward too often. There was a tiredness in his face that had been there long before the party, something a night’s rest would not be enough to reverse, a tension just beneath the surface, a low, constant hum.

The elevator doors opened, leading out the foyer towards the dispersed street. He strode through the lobby doors, nodding at the doorman as his hand slid down the copper door handles, the frozen metal beneath his palm. The street looked bleak, a drastic change from the view up above. How could the picture look so perfect from far away, yet tragic up close? Like an incomplete painting, the details were only seen unfinished when right in front of them.

The dim streets were barren, the only remembrance of living life shown through the trash left behind. Kenzo’s building was located in the heart of the city, the iris of the city's eye. The streets were lined with variations of concrete, wood, and stone, all amalgamated to mimic the appearance of structure. Hollow bodies with only a face.

Lucius’s mind was preoccupied with a million different thoughts, just like it always was. Perhaps a calming stroll could alleviate some of the pressure, as he let the breeze guide his direction. His midnight voyage down the vacant streets had lead him to a familiar place, as he unconsciously arrived at the steps of the Gallery of Fine Arts. From the street, the Gallery rose like a paradox, combinations of modern and ancient designs molded together. Its sweeping glass face curved outward in a reflective wave, capturing distorted fragments in its image. Behind it, the building’s older bones still showed through, the remnants of yesterday longing to be remembered.

Being a student at the University of Fine Arts, paired with the fact that Kenzo’s father was a generous benefactor of the gallery, Lucius had been granted an all access key card that allowed him entrance at all times. Cutting through the concrete arches lining the entrance, he tapped his card and entered the amber hallway. Many exhibits were on display for public presentation multiple times a year, with rapid switch ups in order to keep interest alive. The labyrinthian corridors were filled wall to wall with valuable and precious relics of humanity, admirable examples of human determination. A beautiful bamboo and oak spiral staircase centered the main hall, the ambient lighting from the cathedral ceiling casting caricatured shadows around the room.

He climbed the winding staircase and arrived at the top floor of the building, persisting his search for something to peak his interest. He was unsure what had drawn him to the Gallery in the first place, but he felt compelled to continue exploring. Every step he took echoed faintly, his presence the only living abstraction, and as he walked, the sense of movement slowed, as if the hallway were less a passage and more a threshold. He followed the dim overhead lights, allowing them to guide his path.

Continuing down the dimly lit corridor, at the end of the rounded hall was an unfinished section of the Gallery under construction. Clear plastic hung over the opening into the area, and the rough textures within could be seen through the transparent material. With Lucius’s curiosity finally peaked, he swept the plastic aside and stepped inside.

Amidst the empty concrete walls and floors, an ashen atmosphere suffocated the air as if a bomb packed with cinder had gone off in the room. The room was half formed, caught in between between destruction and creation. Exposed beams stretched across the ceiling like ribs, while wires dangled loosely in the dusty air. The walls had been stripped down to bare studs, awaiting drywall and layers of paint, and the floor was a patchwork of old concrete and scattered plywood, cluttered with discarded nails. The air carried the scent of sawdust, paint, and something unfamiliar, like the taste of metal. As Lucius’s eyes adjusted to the stark dimness, he noticed an incongruous object propped up in the middle of the room. There, in the centre of the shadowed room, was a painted canvas displayed on a wooden easel.

The painting depicted a singular willow tree among a desolate landscape. The painted tree rose high, its twisted branches extending from all sides and its gray trunk forming a solid base to carry the weight of its shoulders. No greenery or life was visible anywhere on the tree, its wooden carcass appearing as lifeless as a graveyard. Wisps of foliage hung down from the decaying branches, as if wanting to stay accurate to the weeping mantra.

“Why was this left in here?” Lucius reacted confused.

He quietly moved closer to the canvas, acting cautious as if the tree would hear him and spring to life. The painting’s details looked even more deliberate up close, its dead flesh engraved with years of gentle decay, a lasting impression left upon its surface. He felt drawn to to it, compelled to become one with it. Before letting his fingers feel the texture of the paint, his eyes now half adjusted to the mellow lighting, had focused on an abrasion a quarter up the trunk. A diagonal gash ran sharply down the centre point of the tree, imitating an open wound left behind from an incomplete heart surgery. The gash was darker than the surrounding wood, seeming endless and infinite, a constant void.

As Lucius examined the painted wound, he watched as a single crimson tear tore through the painted world, cascading down from the opening. The droplet followed the grooves of the tree, continuing down the painting and landing as a drop of red, stained against the concrete floor. There was something eerily familiar about this scene, something chilling that Lucius had experienced before.