The Reality Artist

"** 

The days that followed Zeke's discovery were a blur of exhaustion and unease. Every time he closed his eyes, the image of the moving hands haunted him. The mysterious symbol that had replaced them was etched into his memory like a brand. It felt like the wall was calling to him, demanding answers he didn't have. 

One evening, after a grueling shift at a local diner that barely paid for his rundown apartment, Zeke found himself wandering back to the wall. The crowd from the previous day was gone, and the alley was eerily quiet. He traced his fingers over the cryptic symbol, feeling a strange warmth emanating from it. 

As if on instinct, Zeke pulled out his spray paint cans. The moment he shook the first can, he felt a surge of energy rush through him, as though the wall itself was feeding him. Without thinking, his hand began moving. The image of a bird—a phoenix—took shape, its wings spread wide, flames licking at its edges. 

When he finished, Zeke stepped back, admiring his work. The mural seemed alive, its fiery hues glowing faintly in the dim alley light. But then, just as before, the bird began to move. It flapped its wings once, twice, and with a burst of heat, it broke free from the wall, taking flight into the night sky. 

Zeke stumbled backward, his heart pounding. The air was filled with the scent of smoke and something else—something metallic. He clutched his chest as a sharp pain shot through him, and his vision blurred. The world tilted, and he collapsed onto the cold pavement. 

When Zeke woke, he was in his apartment, sprawled on the floor. His head throbbed, and his muscles felt like they'd been wrung out. He struggled to his feet, his mind racing with questions. What was happening to him? And why did creating take so much out of him? 

Over the next few days, Zeke began to notice other changes. His hands, once steady, now trembled. His appetite diminished, replaced by an insatiable thirst. But more disturbing were the dreams—visions of creatures he'd never painted, of places he'd never been. It was as if his creations were connecting him to something far beyond his understanding. 

Determined to find answers, Zeke visited **Ms. Alvarez**, an elderly woman who ran a small occult bookstore a few blocks from his apartment. She was known for her knowledge of strange and inexplicable phenomena. 

When Zeke described what had happened, Ms. Alvarez's face grew grave. She pulled a dusty tome from her shelves and flipped through its brittle pages until she found a section that made her pause. 

"You've stumbled onto something ancient," she said, her voice low. "What you're describing is an art not meant for mortals. Creation like this—bringing life from nothing—it comes with a price. Each piece you bring to life takes a part of you. Your energy, your health… even your soul." 

Zeke's stomach churned. "But why me? I didn't ask for this." 

"Gifts like yours don't ask for permission," she replied. "They choose. And they demand." 

Before he left, Ms. Alvarez handed him a small pendant inscribed with a protective rune. "This might help, but it won't stop the cost. Be careful, Ezekiel. Power like yours draws attention—from forces you can't imagine." 

That night, Zeke stood in front of the wall once more, the pendant heavy around his neck. He looked at his trembling hands and then at the empty space where the phoenix had once been. 

He had the power to create, to bring beauty and wonder into a world that sorely needed it. But at what cost? And how much was he willing to pay? 

As he picked up his paint can, a shadow moved at the edge of the alley. Zeke froze, his instincts screaming danger. But when he turned to look, the shadow was gone. 

For the first time, he realized he wasn't just fighting the toll on his body—he was being watched. 

--- 

****

........

"Don't miss the chance to get advanced chapters of my novel for FREE! Just copy the link now and start reading!"

https://shorturl.at/3DZhG