Tiger Tales 2017, Short Story, 1st place
Here is an excerpt of Short Story senior junior Abigail Knuckles' "Blinders":
As she stared off in the general direction of the footbridge, the sound of a clearing throat slightly to her right startled her into a more upright sitting position. After a few seconds’ hesitation, she turned to find the smudge much larger. He was, in fact, sitting a mere two and a half feet away from her on the only seven foot long bench. She sat silently, eyes glued to the canvas in front of her, hoping he’d pick up on her disdain for his museum etiquette through osmosis.His overly round glasses seen out of the corner of her eye seemed to reflect her emotions back upon her, making her grateful when he broke the silence.
“You’ve really been studying the canvas,” he barely mumbled.
“It’s a favorite,” she returned at the same volume. As she turned her attention to the detail of the lilypads, he spoke.
“I like the way the bridge blends in. Like it’s part of the vegetation. One cohesive scene that Monet just captured on the canvas.”
“I think it pops a bit. The color just a slightly unnatural greenish-blue.” She could handle a conversation about the art, as long as nothing got too personal.
“I wouldn’t know.” She stayed silent, but turned to look at him once more. “Color blind. No, not like a dog.”
The silence protracted, Claudia unsure how to respond.
“I know, I know,” he began after a few more moments. “What’s a color blind dude doing at an art museum? Isn’t that, like, a painful reminder of your lapse in vision? But the truth of the matter is, I just really appreciate the glimpse into something beyond myself. Even though I can’t see it as they really intended. But that’s what it’s all about, y’know? Your interpretation of the thing some person wanted you to see. Authorial intent is irrelevant and all that. Though I guess that’s literary theory, not art. But you get the point.”