Art Explained By A Writer: Ateria (1899)

What happened earlier

_{Ateria - Pekka Halonen (1899)}

3:24 - nightmare
I am here, he said. His voice sounded soft and it was impossible to ignore the intruder, not that I had a choice. He came and left, arrived in the evening, at times at night and did as he liked in the kingdom of men. That's how he called it. At first, he took the book along. Not black but dark blue and read the stories that should enlighten me or make clear that my place was to serve him, since he was the Almighty's right hand.
Frequently I thought how women can praise a lord that hates and despises them with every vein in his body. Do lords have veins, common sense, are they human, different from any slave driver?

5:17
I checked the bag of rotten tomatoes. There wasn't much left. Potatoes exchange life for eternity in a wink, unlike humans. I stabbed the knife into the sack. A sound like air escaping a balloon sounded. The smell was unbearable, but still unmistakably potatoes.
It was the first time I left the window of the basement open.

6:07
Devil stretched, meowed. It's time to go out.

7:30
I took my diary along to kill time or better, make notes in case I see something important.

10:45
There's a guy up there on the rocks every time I visit the river and wait for an answer. There must be someone finding my epistles. Are they letters? A cry for help? Or do they build a story of what happens when something—when someone—snaps after years of pulled strings, of being chained against her will?
I waited but nothing happened, no bottle, not a single message. No falling star to make a wish just one single shoe. Devil sniffed it, then flicked his tail and turned away. I kept it anyway.

1 pm
From a distance, I observe them at the tavern. It wasn't my intention. There they are, the friends, the men, the gang. Laughing, joking, getting served. Look at the blush on their cheeks, their white, innocent Sunday church shirts.

I know what will happen - five seconds - 1, 2, 3, 4, 5...
Only five seconds are enough to warn, five to change a life if she'd would step outside for one second. One second to whisper, don’t go back in there, one second to spare her 630,720,000 more.
But the door stays shut. The clock ticks, and I shouldn't count.

The story continues here written by @almaguer



_{30.3.25
Painting: Meal time (1899) by Pekka Halonen - Public domain}

_{#story #art #review #halonen #steemexclusive #club75}