Peter's POV
I sighed to myself as I packed my bag, ready to stay at the art gallery for a few hours. I couldn't say I was too thrilled about this, but I couldn't do anything about it now, so I walked over to the storage room to see if there was anything out of place in need of fixing so I could keep myself busy.
I found a few plushies and t-shirts on the floor, so I decided to pick them up and put them in their designated spot.
A few minutes later, I get out of the storage room and check my phone. 8:15 p.m. I sighed again. When were the security guards coming? I swear they always come at around 8 p.m. Why do they have to be late today out of all days?
Since I basically had the whole gallery to myself for a few minutes or hours I should use it to my advantage, I decided to check out each exhibit, looking at the ones the kids were looking at just this morning and some others.
The paintings and sculptures were breathtaking, and I couldn't help but stop at each one to take in the paintings. I could see the different strokes of the brush the artist used to make such an extraordinary painting, the sandpaper the sculptor used to smooth the sculpture, and the small crevices from them being underground for so long. It was so satisfying.
I heard a noise coming from the entrance and looked back, thinking it was the security guards, but no one was there.
Look, I'm not that scared of the dark; I don't believe in ghosts and all that shit, but I swear I heard a noise, and suddenly I was very aware of my surroundings. I questioned everything. Did someone break in? Are they waiting for me to walk up to where they're hiding so they can kidnap me or, worse, kill me?
I shook my head to try and get rid of the thoughts, “Don't be such an idiot. Ghosts aren't real,” I mutter to myself. I advanced forward, and that's when I saw it. My favourite exhibit, the heart and soul, as it's called. I love the exhibit because my favourite artists and sculptors were in it. I checked the time again. 8:50 p.m. I got a text, so I checked who it was and saw that it was from one of the security guards.
Sorry, we're running late. We were at a bar and kind of lost track of time. We'll be there in a few minutes. Sorry again.
Is what the text said, and I scoffed. Are you kidding me? They were out drinking, and that’s why they were late. I was mad, really mad, but as soon as I looked at my favourite exhibit once again, the madness dissipated from my face, and I practically ran towards the entrance.
As soon as I walked through the exhibit, I was awestruck by the paintings and sculptures. God, I just love my job. I smiled to myself.
I continued to gaze at all the pictures and sculptures when, from a distance, I saw a sculpture. I couldn't see what it was from where I was standing, but it seemed to be brighter than the other sculptures.
I carefully walked up to the sculpture, and I saw that the sculpture was of a scorpion, which was quite weird because, I swear to God, I've never seen that sculpture before in my life, and I've been in this exhibit like a million times.
Confused, I walked closer to the sculpture. A faint glow was coming from the scorpion, but as I walked closer to it, it got brighter and brighter. I backed away, feeling scared, and the light died down. Okay, now I am really scared. Was this some sort of prank? I thought to myself, then I remembered the noise I heard a few minutes, maybe hours ago.
I knew someone broke in; they probably stole the sculpture from another art gallery and hid it in here so he wouldn't get in trouble. I also decided that it was a guy because only a guy can do something this stupid.
I rolled my eyes. Why were those fucking security guards? They said they would be here in a few minutes, but it's been like a half hour. I'm definitely going to have a word with the boss about this, also making a reminder to never agree to help Mark when it's not something that's in my job description when I got this job.
What was I meant to do now? Do I just wait here until the security guards come? Should I call them and tell them to hurry their slow asses up? I cursed under my breath, and then I heard a noise, like the one I heard before, coming from behind me. I quickly turned around, expecting to find a guy there, but there was no one there. I rolled my eyes again. This is getting annoying. You know what? I'm just going to check out the new sculpture. I guess. I thought, What's the harm?
I stepped closer to the sculpture of the scorpion, and it turned brighter. As I got closer, I realised that it wasn't the actual sculpture that was getting brighter; there was some kind of aura around it that glowed. What kind of magic is this? I asked myself.
As I stood in front of the sculpture, I could see all the tools that were used to make it—none. It wasn't made by a human, but what could've made such a unique piece? The legs of the scorpion were made with such care and had so much detail. It took me at least 5 minutes to study each one. It was amazing, but also very strange.
How could such a thing be made without a human giving their time and effort to make it? How did it just arrive at the exhibit, much less the gallery, out of thin air? And the most important question: why did it have to happen while I have to stay the night? I mean, come on, Mark has been doing this since before I got a job here, and nothing eerie or weird happened, so why is it happening to me?
“Dad, is this your cruel way of saying that I should leave New York? Am I not cut out for this type of work?” I scorned looking up at the roof, knowing that I was alone in the gallery. “It's not my fault you decided to leave me,” I murmured, because it's true, I didn't ask to be made, and I didn't ask for my parents to protect me from my dad's “evil co-worker.”
I didn't ask, and I definitely didn't want to be abandoned by the people I thought were supposed to care for me.
I quickly rub my eyes as I feel tears start to form, laughing because no one can see me. I closed my eyes and thought of all the times when my dad dismissed me when he was talking to his so-called friends, that he was just using for their money. “You have to understand that I'm doing this for you,” he would say to me. Yeah, right, doing it for me, my ass.
At least Mom was tolerable. I only hated her because she got married to this stupid piece of shit. But her? She was the best mother any child could've asked for; she was kind, caring, and patient. She was always so patient with me; even when I was a brat, she just cared for me, and I love her oh, so much.
So when she and my dad left me with my uncle and his wife, I was so angry with her. She was crying so much, apologising over and over again, but I didn't care. Honestly, what do you expect? I was 15 at the time, and I just hit puberty, so I was going through a lot of changes, and when she left me at my uncle's house, I thought that she was leaving me to start a new life with my dad, that they were going to have another child, and just pretend that I didn't exist.
When I spied on my uncle talking to my so-called parents, he was mad like me, and he had every right to be. My uncle and his wife had a baby on the way and couldn't afford to take care of another child, but my dad, being the prick he was, immediately gave my uncle a cheque.
I don't know how many dollars, but it was definitely a lot, judging by the way my uncle's eyes grew when my dad gave it to him. He hugged his brother, but my dad whispered something in his ear, and I couldn't make out what he was saying from where I was standing, so I left the room.
A few minutes later, they came out. My mom still had tears in her eyes, and my dad was trying to console her. As my dad made his way closer to me, I sneered, “So this is it? You're just paying me off to someone so you can go elsewhere and forget about me?” My dad shook his head, not speaking, and I huffed because I couldn't take this shit any longer.
“Just leave both of you; I never want to see you guys again,” I snapped.
"Peter, please don't be like this; we're doing this for you. Please don't make it harder than it already is,” my mother sniffled. She was trying her best to comfort me, but I wasn't having any of it.
I yelled at them to get out, opening the door for them to leave quicker before they were out. Mom gave me one last look that hurt me.
When they finally left, I burst out into tears. My uncle's wife tried to comfort me by saying, “It's ok, they'll be back,” but it didn't work. I knew they wouldn't be back.
A few days later, as I was getting used to being part of my new life, my uncle came up to me crying. I didn't know why, and he showed me an article on his laptop, and I read the title:
Yesterday at 5 in the morning, a plane crashed, killing all of the passengers, including the infamous Tom and Bianca Johnston.
And I ran to my room, my uncle calling my name behind me, but I didn't care. I felt so many emotions. I was devastated that my parents were dead, but I was also relieved. I felt like I could breathe. But one thing I knew for certain was that I was alone, like always.
I shook my head, why the hell am I ranting about this? I don't want to waste the little time I have left crying over my stupid, dead dad. I got up, realising that in the middle of my rant I was on the floor, and rubbed my eyes to get all tears out. I can't leave myself alone with my thoughts for too long. I would probably be able to make the painting of the Mona Lisa cry, which made me laugh a little while trying to hold back more tears from coming out.
I cleaned myself up and decided that I was going to take a look at the sculpture again. I'm positive that it wasn't there in the morning, so when the security guards come, I could just give it to them.
As I made my way towards the sculpture again, it started glowing. Don't get me wrong, it looked extraordinary, but it wasn't meant to be in this exhibit, much less in this art gallery at all.
As I stood face-to-face with the sculpture, I stopped not because I wanted to look at the art in front of me again but because I was physically glued to the ground. I tried to move my legs, but they wouldn't work.
There was a force coming from the sculpture, and I couldn't help but want to feel it. I slowly stretched my hand to touch it, and once I did, there was an explosion. I was launched back, and I hit my head on the opposite wall. I tried to get up, but my head was hurting so much and suddenly my eyelids started to feel really heavy, and then everything turned black.
The last thing I heard before I went unconscious was the security guards who finally arrived yelling at each other to call an ambulance.
And all I was thinking was, What the fuck happened?
Little did I know my life was going to turn upside down..
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Author's Note!
Hello, my Luvs! I really hope you enjoyed this chapter—more than 2,000 words is a lot for me, lol. Since my exams start tomorrow, I doubt I'll be posting a chapter the following week. But there will be a lot of chapters after summer break, which begins soon. What do you think about the plot thus far? What do you think of Peter? Would you be his friend? What do you believe happened to Peter? Please leave a comment with your responses! I hope you have enjoyed this chapter once more. Have a fantastic remainder of the week!
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