He graffitied in the light of night, bathed in the wavering, orangey yellow hued monstrosity. That light was put in by the leader of the community, to deter activities such as this graffiti artist’s greatest delights. How he joyously spray painted everywhere, words, images upon the walls, whichever, he did not care, only that he was leaving his mark, pink, yellow, blue, why, these were his favourite hues, grab them, for a start!
The funny thing was that he wasn’t an untalented artist, in fact, he was an artist in his own right, he was known throughout the streets under his alias, “Stabb in the Knight”. He liked to play on words, you see, and his well known trademark was a knife dripping false water across the helmet of a knight – this logo suited him to a tee, for in the basking yellow light of the night, it did certainly cause some unsuspecting viewers a fright.
Tonight he was at his favourite haunt, the sidewalk alleyway by the park. Here he was afforded some privacy, the pathways were too deserted and isolated to be safely walked. From the station, the commuters would rather the long walk round to the car park, it was safer that way, and they were better left alone. It was frightening in this day and age for people to walk the streets alone, so much crime and disaster potentially lurking on the streets, why, it was something that across the news it should be continually plastered.
The Stabb pulled out the colour which matched his own hue – baby pink – for he was a can of pink full too – that with the greatest irony he sprayed the colour upon the wall that was exactly the same shade as himself. (If he ever ran out of this shade, he did not use a spray from himself.) His outer exterior though showed him as blue, to fend off his enemies from being calculated at attacking his true hue. This was because he needed to retain his life, his colour, his world, for this is what he was known for, for being a spray paint artist, a Graffer, talented, a unique can of this common world. He was the pale hued Stabb in the Knight that would become of you if you were not done with observing his miraculous skills of artistry before the night is yet done.
Quickly yet skilfully he tagged a rapidly sprayed “Hello”, a message to his rivals, “Elegantly Cursed I’ve Curled,” to allow them to understand he knew they were on his field. Each party had a graffiti making area of their own, and The Cursed had been encroaching upon his territory without a spray of remittance or utterance of permission to be experienced or owned. Though the Stabb was a friendly can, this was not on, he did not tolerate such disrespect from women, cans, or men, for when his walls were being abused, he was utterly unamused, wait until they watched the fury fly from him, the spray exploding unintentionally from between his curled crossed eyes.
In the city they met that night, the meeting was coded and arranged by specially arranged dot- dot languages that were always on the rivals’ brains, and once marched before one another it was time to duel: their method of settling a score involved graffitiing across a large wall before a packed living and breathing room. And of course, it was with great natural skill that the Stabb obtained his right, to vamoose these Cursed cans out into the night without a means of their continued fight. For they failed in their defence, a simple failure of calligraphy lettering across the wall, small, pathetic, at best, and scurry and slink away to the ends of their former territory did they, ashamed to have even existed on this fateful day.
Nowadays the spray painting gangs leave the Stabb alone, they don’t encroach on his world or area, nor try to take his metaphorical throne, he is now understood to be the leader of skilled spray painting graff, and wouldn’t the world be content to understand this at that?
© 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock, also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.
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