Every night, before going to sleep, she had to swallowridiculous amounts of sleeping pills because she couldn't stand being in the dark, thinkingabout how she had lost complete control over her life, and how if she died inher sleep she would never have a chance to start over, as she had been secretly dreaming ofdoing for years.

,

Arte finally got it.

e, but the sea... the seawas infinite.

in its entirety,

until her hands were too coldto feel the consistency of the ladder,

,

threaten

She had no fucking real friends.

shutting

With a shiver of terror, Arte realized.Blood.

A hand hit the glass, exactly at Arte's face level.

step in that direction

She fought to get her eyes to adapt to the absence of light,

she knew shewasn’t anything but a fraud.

gotten

knowing how he even knows of my existence

exam

actual

As soon as Berlini hadbought her five NFTs and the pictures of them projected on his living room’s walls hadappeared on all the main e-magazines’ social media, Arte had stopped being a nobody no oneexpected anything from.

refused to go to her dance classes because she had neverdeveloped normal socialisation skills.

The world would have kept on spinning, and she would have been able toremain enclosed in the safe bubble of her studio.

Art

When she was thirteen and all kids were supposed to pick one main subject in school,all other options had just seemed way too big for her. Of course, it would have been easy topick Science, like her parents did. But she was an overthinker by nature, and even atthirteen the consequences of that choice weighed on her as if the whole world would haveeither thrived or collapsed depending on it.

They could all feel it.

She saw it on their faces, in their lost gazesreflecting on the dark screens of the HoloWatches on their wrists.

glasses

frizzing

immediately

Peopletended to scream all the time, mostly for very un-scream-worthy stuff.

Someone, somewhere outside the shop, screamed.

The first time they had sex he had made acomment on how she didn’t need to try that hard.

Laces

Quiet, other than for the eery ambiance music.

seriously started considering leaving

upper hemisphere

The great cruise ships that hadpolluted the city’s harbours for decades left.

And alsobecause, even though the canals had been empty for decades, some of the water had remainedstuck in the sewer beneath the streets. It had stood still and stagnant for so long, collecting allthe carcasses of the rats drowning and decaying. And the wet and unsanitary environmentattracted mould, flies and maggots, and despite all of the efforts from the mayor of sprayingthe drains with that rose-scented solution that had gotten the city council into debt, the air stillsmelled putrid.

The tram had come

wrinkled, soft

With her index she slowlystarted tracing her traits.

perfectly fine

and his lack of amoustache.

Or to scream and punch a hole through the wall of her office, like she needed.

finally

not-like-other-artists

you would look at a child asking why the Sun goesdown every day.

paintings

moustache

And... yeah, she lost it.

Come on, Arte. Find something smart to say.

He didn’t seem the type to get offended at anything.

go back.

you’ll have any inputs,

In marble

physical

She tried to hide her amazement, evenwhen the border of one of the pages cut through her skin. She flinched and retrieved her hand,hiding it under the desk.

She passed her fingertip

came out

It was a proper, old-timey, physical folder.

She was a professional woman. A successful woman. A confident woman.

literally

She had to say something. Anything. Don’t comment onthe moustache, Artemisia. Don’t. Comment. The moustache.

Odds Raffa would grow a moustache? Close to zero. Hewas obsessed with waxing and shaving and clean, soft, baby-like skin. And anyway, he wouldhave never touched her like that. She had forgotten the feeling of his lips on her skin. But thisman looked like the kind of man who doesn’t care what his partner’s underwear looks like. Helooked like he would rip a bra open without taking his eyes off yours and – Oh my God wasshe fantasising about a student?

Because that one. Allof a sudden, she craved that feeling.

always only seen

They looked like they would itchagainst your skin.

démodé

God, Arte had never seen a moustache like that.

She forced her brain to remove the image of her mother’s new face from her mind –unsuccessfully – and then took a deep breath, painting on her face the expression of someonewho has her life together. Then, she opened the door.

acting as if she wasn’t painfully aware of her jumper sticking to herbody because of the sweat, the wool itchy and drenched in her own body odour, and how shereally should have showered that morning.

professor

Instead, she had gotten to work a good half an hour late.

That to say,

Artethought about her mother’s mouth. About the few, rare times the woman had used those lips tokiss her. The ones she had before. Thin, pale, wrinkled. Arte tried to focus on the memory oftheir warmth on her skin. On her cheek, on her birthdays. On her forehead, at graduation. Onher nose, once, when she was five. She tried to hold onto that memory, in an attempt to stopher mind from replacing it with the way her mum’s new lips had felt, when she’d kissed hergoodbye outside of the Caffè Florian. Thick. Hard. Cold.

few, rare

Arte should have left the café, gotten on the next tram and gone home, back to bed,taking her stained bra off before Raffa could see it and maybe tried to seduce him, just to proveto herself that she still could.

Oh, she was so going to be sick.

Arte definitely took way too long to make the room around her stop spinning

That face – that unfamiliar, unknown face – barely moved toaccompany the sound.

What. Was. Happening?

on those blackchalkboards they had in the old timey movies her dad made her watch as a kid.

hitched

back

if Arte had to guess

a woman

Even her period had alwaysbeen scarily punctual, ever since Arte had memory.

Anyway.

that much.

fake

hated

,

ten

in the frenzy to get out of there

reportage

She wasn’t exactly agoraphobic, but almost.

time-managing

,

Or. Remarked? No, no, joked. Artewas, like, seventy percent sure.

incorporating

solely

petrified,

Alarmingly bitter

(which came from the trash, Arte had ruled. Yes. Definetly not her.)

on

Of course, Arte. Coming right up

with no coffee in her system...

And, well, shit

only seemingly clean

Nothing could have gone wrong.

have

go through

would have been

casually

this time

,

Like. Properly.

wall draped with too many pairs of lacy lingerie.

random

21:13

with her head held up high and a fearlesssmirk on her face, looking back at the montage of her life with not a single ounce of regret.

,

as she would have hoped

T.S. Elliot

They are left with her art. Everything else is mere speculation.

, andalways will remain,

tinging the sky, the clouds and the ripples on the surface of the Adriatic Seawith thousands of different shades of yellow, and orange, and purple

following day

,

Artemisia Parisi

What you care about is a story. Everyone loves a story. They always want to knoweverything about the private lives of people they’ve not even actually met. It doesn’t evenmatter whether what you’re told is accurate or not. A true story is not necessarily a good story.

Academics love looking for explanations to rationalize things that were neverintended to be rational.

brilliant, unexplorable minds

exact moment

human portraits that look less human