rea strea •

BY ' PURNIMA I RUANGLERTBUTR

Some people see the future in a ba/1 ofblinding white light. Some see the past in the black cracks between moments. And me? I don't see anything. The paintbrush wounds in ways the sword can only dream of It is the sword's mostfervent wish to slice with the brutal subdety of the brush, so that its victim scarcely knows he has been struck.

MrChana inspected me as l walked in to the arr smdio. ! refused to budge until T mer the owner.

"F ifceen?" He guessed.

"No, twenty!" I lied.

''You're too yOLmg. Look at the other men, they're o ld enough to be your fa ther s A nd what does a boy your age want to work here fo r anyway? Go home!" Mr Chana nuaed to leave.

"Wair! Look, I need the wor k \\'ihy does it ma tter to you what age 1 ara?" My voice rose as Mr C b ana's figure recreated toward s the o ffice.

" I'U take halfof what the others ask you for!"

The figure stopped Paintbrushes hovered in mid-air - ali eyes mrned tome

He grinn ed

" l\fake me some samples; we have a n ew client coming in today

If I like your samples, you can pa.int his bus " He turned to me. "Bue first, I need tea from d1at sta.ll ar the end of th e lane. D o n't walk s lowly it looks like rain"

Ro.lls o f soiled paper stretched across th e yard table, unearthed from the cupboard b etween cans o f paint and m rpenrine l wo r ked vigorous ly \vhilst the other me n furti vely glimpsed at what loo ked like burst5 of colour dancing o n a b lack smface. D ays later, three completed pane ls surfaced, its picrures celebrating Karac hi c ity's vir.ality.

Tbeftrsf tbi11g she said to Ille, 'Vid J'Olf know thc1t black can glow?" It 11Jas hard lo look a111ay 1vhile she 111as dra111it1g. She k,11e1JJ bow lo build light, depth,