Dance [FINALE]

Carrying a number of pots containing a faintly glowing liquid, Gika and I made our way through the tunnel underneath the city wall. Earlier this month we had been kicked out of the city, led outside into the wilderness through the main city gate. It didn't take long for us to find civilization, a small agrarian village filled with elves where we were kindly provided some shelter and food in return for farm-work, even despite the fact that we didn't share a language with which we could communicate. In the meantime, we plotted, gathered the necessary components for our plan. The elves regularly partook in a ritual where all members of the village finger-painted together in the forest using a glowing pigment they called "qadhallidi', created using a form of magic unbeknownst to Gika and I both. After much difficulty attempting to communicate our plan, they agreed to lend us a few pots of the substance in return for us giving a number of painting lessons to especially the village's children. After obtaining the glowing paint, both of us used the secret passageway to sneak back into the city and into Paolo's now even more abandoned studio, where we took most of the canvases and moved them to the shack that held the hidden tunnel. In this new place of operations, which in contrast to Paolo's studio was hopefully a place unknown to the Uomo Universale, we sketched and painted using the qadhallidi we had obtained from the elves, creating works that showed the both the horrors of Municipio, as well as the inherent flaws of a system ruled by the Uomo Universale. We made what we felt looked right, moved people, got our point across, discarding any and all rules of painting we felt to be unnecessary. Using the qadhallidi in these works would be sure to bring attention to them, their exotic glows sure to turn heads. This was the final batch of paint, with which we would finish the last five works. If all went according to plan, we could spread them around the city tonight. Gika placed the pots she was carrying beside her and climbed up on the ladder at the end of the hallway. She pushed the trapdoor open from beneath, then reached one of her hands towards me, waiting for me to hand her the pots so she could place them up above. I did as asked, and not long after both of us were out of the hole, already reaching for our brushes. As if by second nature we began coloring our sketches, casually chatting with one-another while we did until three consecutive knocks on the door interrupted us.

"Gika, Gavino, are you there?" My father asked through the front door of the old shed, "can we come in?"

"Yes, of course!" Me and Gika replied simultaneously.

The door opened, revealing both my father as well as Gika's mother.

"You two are early." I said.

"We thought it would be better to be early than late for this." Gika's mother answered.

"I suppose." Gika replied.

"Are both of you still okay with putting yourselves at risk like this?" I asked.

"Of course!" My father proclaimed, "that woman is going to pay for divorcing me!"

"I won't let people who banish my daughter get away that easily!" Gika's mother added, "I have to at least do something!"

"Alright, then just wait for us to finish," I said, "nightfall should be soon."

We painted our last strokes and, as expected, when we looked outside the sun had already begun to set. All four of us put on a black cloak as well as a kind of improvised harness created by Gika that could help us carry a number of canvases on our back, which were wrapped in a dark piece of cloth similar to what we were wearing.

"Is everyone ready?" I asked.

Everyone nodded.

"Then fa- dad, this is goodbye, at least for now. When you are done, go home, me and Gika will be gone when dawn breaks."

My father nodded, obviously trying his hardest to keep his emotions at bay. Gika's mother, on the other hand, had tears streaming down her face.

"I'm sorry," Gika said, "I'm not really your daughter, but you are really my mother. I'll- I'll come to visit you sometime, okay?"

She nodded and wiped the tears from her face.

"Gavino, I'll see you at Paolo's, yes?" Gika asked.

"Yes." I confirmed.

"Then let's go!"

We all ran out of the building, each of us moving in a different direction, through the alleyways of the city. Populated places where they would immediately be seen, hard-to-reach places where those attempting to remove them wouldn't quickly find them, art galleries where they would be preserved, these were the kinds of places we were looking for. Move fast yet carefully, as to not be seen by anyone, but if spotted, act as normal as possible. These were the rules we established between us four. Gika and I didn't want our parents to face any negative consequences for helping us, and we didn't want to be caught before we were able to reconvene at Paolo's studio.

I entered the market square. As expected, it was empty at this hour. I made my way over to 'The Madman's Stage', where I quickly hammered a nail into the building behind it before hanging one of the paintings from it, after which I ran into an alleyway and made my escape. I weaved through the streets, occasionally putting up a painting but also sometimes writing various messages on walls using leftover qadhallidi: 'The Municipio is a tool meant to trap souls', 'Those who oppose the Uomo Universale are banished or killed' and 'Children are being possessed by ghost as by-product of secret Uomo Universale projects'.

Perhaps they would be dismissed as lies or pranks, perhaps few people would actually believe the truth, but at least it would start rumors, sowing some distrust between the people of the city and the Uomo Universale, forcing them to act more carefully and maybe, just maybe, all of this would cause something to change. That was our hope. As I put up the final painting, a familiar feeling of adrenaline and exhilaration found me once more and placed a smirk on my face. Tomorrow morning, the people of Magranpoli would wake up to some interesting messages and art. Now, there was only one thing left to do. I rushed over to Paolo's studio. There was one canvas that had been too big to move discreetly. An enormous white canvas, still waiting to be painted on.

Gika had already moved the canvas to the center of the room and prepared the paint and brushes. We had no plan. No sketches. No time. Before the sun came up, we would have to finish this. We took a breath, and we began. I let my mind glide towards the memories of my past life. Computers, airplanes, offices, schoolwork, diploma's, everything- Gika painted people, me, her, my mother, her mother, my father and a man I assumed was hers, or what she imagined her father to have been. There were people I didn't recognize as well, people who must have been from her past life, people who I never could have known portrayed so filled with life, and of course Paolo, his grumpiness on full display, as if back from the dead. We moved around flawlessly, reading and predicting each other's movements without issue. The same was true of our painting. We would work towards one another, our drawings flowing into each other, despite being undoubtedly different in style they were as if painted by the same hand. Playing into one another, working with the other to create something greater than either of us could produce on our own, an expression of ourselves and our love for each other… we were dancing.

The composition was circular, a chaotic amalgamation of our thoughts and feelings, our souls intertwined, surrounding a large, circular blank space. We both knew something would go there, something important, something that could reach the people who would find this hammered on the door of the Municipio in the morning, but neither of us knew what exactly it was going to be. I closed my eyes, and remembered a question I had asked so long ago. I smiled, because I finally had the answer. I placed my left hand in the pot of qadhallidi, covering it. Gika saw me do this and immediately followed with her right. Within the center of this work, we placed our hands against it, creating an impression of them. Throughout history, in every world in every place, this hand communicated something.

'I am a person. I was here.'

It just felt right. Both of us agreed. I looked at Gika. She looked at me. We had created something beautiful together. Something perfect, at least to us. We kissed. No matter where we would go, whether that be inside the city or out, I would be okay with her.

Before written history had even begun, people across the globe all independently painted pictures of their hands on the walls of caves. Before, I didn't know why they did this.

But now, I think I know. I think they just wanted to be understood.