The Art Of The Heart by Dan Skinner Read Free Book Online

old wooden house. Lights flickered, went out, came back on and then extinguished entirely. The girls shrieked and then the house fell into a deep hush as the two McHenry boys lit the lanterns. They distributed them throughout the rooms.
    The storm slammed the house steadily as everyone turned in for the night. Whispers turned into snores. Zac lay still in his bed listening to the sounds, watching the play of shadows on the ceiling from the flickering lantern. It hissed quietly from his nightstand. Sleep eluded him . His mind raced. Seeing Rory again brought back his inspiration to draw; to return to the story he’d abandoned months ago.
    He rose and crept to his dresser, opened the bottom drawer where he ’d hidden the sketchbook under some clothes, and retrieved it. Finding his pencils, he checked their sharpness and carried them to his bed, turning the lantern so it shone across the open book. The first portrait that greeted him was of his idol reclining on the tractor in the field. He closed his eyes remembering the sweltering heat of that day, the smell of the dust from the road blowing into the truck’s cab; the tight fit as he sat between the then boy’s tanned legs. His mind kept every detail as full and rich as if it had happened yesterday.
    The next picture was of Rory leaning against the wall of the general store in a wedge of shadow, looking like a long-haired rebel with a cigarette dangling from his lips, shirt sleeves rolled up to display his work-hardened, rounded biceps and shoulders. He had the natural stance of a movie star.
    The next few pictures were the ones that had caused his embarrassment. They were of the older boy skinny dipping in Bullfrog Pond in the moonlight; then lying fully exposed on the grass to dry in the cool night air. Done in silhouettes, one showed him pleasuring himself. The curves and shadows revealed every contour of his body arched off the ground, the muscles of his tight butt clenched, and the firm grip on his erection. It hadn’t actually happened. The artist had pulled it from his imagination. That was what had been so humiliating when Rory had seen it that Thanksgiving day. He’d had a glimpse into Zac’s mind.
    Zac sighed. Even though he ’d been embarrassed, it was again difficult for him to not lust for the real human behind the fictional comic book character. He flipped through the pages of the storyboard, realizing he hadn’t yet finished it. There were only a few more scenes needed to complete the story. Picking up his pencil, he began to draw in the wavering lantern light. These final scenes would come from his heart. They would complete a true love story.
    Shutters hummed like a toneless harmonica against the storm. The world was like that sometimes, he thought. Harsh, wild; without harmony. It needed an Eros to deliver the worry-wearied and lonely hearts to someplace warm and kind and caring. A world which harmonized with love’s music.
    An hour later, when he was finished, when the last frame of the story was drawn, he set down his pencil and smiled. It had taken him a long time to complete this special story. He was now glad he did. It filled him with renewed hope. He needed to believe in happy endings.
    Whether it was the charge of electromagnetic energy in the air from the storm, or his imagination still absorbed with the fantasy he’d created, he sensed something different around him. Something intangible but thrilling. The hairs on his arm stood on end. His skin prickled with unknown anticipation. Perhaps it was like with ghosts and prayers; it took belief in them to allow a doorway into the world where a lantern glowed on a nightstand and shadows danced on a wall. But he definitely felt the movement of something magical.
    He heard the familiar slow squeal of the old hinges on the door to his parents ’ room as it opened. There was the creaking of varnished floorboards beneath bare feet. He looked toward his closed bedroom door. He didn’t need to be