V&F Microfiction: "Collaboration"

Collaboration & Critique & Collision

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Collaboration

Neon blue first. The city is alive at night, always alive. A fiery orange would capture the heat and urgency of the day. A quick arc—no, too harsh—soften it and it will flow like a river through the lines of the city. This led to that, skyscrapers merging into tangled vines. No, not quite there—but getting closer.

He liked to feel the weight of the paint in the can because it felt like potential. Maybe yellow, to highlight the connection, the energy sparking between shapes. He moved with precision, a line here, a burst there, stepping back, reassessing. No, still not quite. He added thin, crisscrossing lines, like neural pathways, binding everything together. Yes, better.

The mural stretched across the warehouse wall, vibrant and chaotic. Something was missing. He closed his eyes, inhaling the city’s pulse and the life outside the walls. It needed more. He hadn't opened the deep violet yet.

A ding echoed through the warehouse. Ahmad’s heart skipped a beat. He wasn’t expecting anyone. He had wanted this time alone to lose himself in his work. He turned and saw his sister in the doorway, her gaze sharp and assessing.

"Still at it?" she asked.

He tried to mask his surprise. "Fatima! I didn’t think you’d come. Look at this section." He gestured to the corner where skyscrapers morphed into vines. "I’ve been all over the city this week, absorbing everything. There’s this spot by the river where the old factory meets the new condos. It feels like the buildings are growing into each other. I wanted to capture that feeling of—"

"That's impressive, little brother…"

Ahmad’s heart lifted for a moment. "I’ve been thinking about how the city connects, like synapses firing in its brain, the hidden currents of life. Over here, I want to incorporate fragments of conversations I’ve overheard on the bus, in cafes—"

"Okay, but you know you'll never finish at this rate. You’re getting too caught in your inspiration." She was already reaching for a brush, her eyes locked on a blank section of the wall. "May I?"

"Well, I'm still working out some details."

Her strokes were precise and deliberate. Geometric shapes began to form over and against his fluid lines. Ahmad watched for a moment, then stepped outside, needing a little air. The city felt distant, its pulse harder to grasp.

Hours slipped by, the warehouse filling with the smell of paint and the soft scratch of bristles on brick. She worked methodically, filling in spaces Ahmad hadn't even realized were empty.

"You know," she said, stepping back to survey her work, "this reminds me of that gallery in Chelsea. Remember? The one where that critic said my work was 'almost visionary'?" She didn’t wait for his response. "Your stuff is going to blow them away. Once we polish it up a bit, of course."

Ahmad nodded, but struggled to reconnect with the vision. It was once so clear in his mind, but now it was all fuzzy around the edges. But she was right there, adding more detail, more structure.

Maybe this is what it needed all along?

Night fell, and his movements slowed with fatigue. He just wasn’t make the progress he wanted. He glanced at her, and her focus was unwavering.

"Fati, it's late. You should get some sleep."

Her laugh was quick and sharp. "Sleep? With all this inspiration? Don’t worry about me. I just need a bit more time." She was kneeling to put a fine point on something. "You go on, though. I’ll just finish up a few things."

He stood for a minute just watching her. Her focus was intense, unwavering. It didn't look like she was wrapping up. Finally, exhaustion won out. "If you’re sure..."

"Absolutely! Now, go rest those magical hands of yours. Your big sister’s got this covered."

"Fati, I..."

"Really, little brother. I'm fine. Go get some sleep."

He wandered to the back of the industrial flat, and something was gnawing, eating at him just under his chest. He’d felt this before. A school art show, years ago. He had been so busy with school and needed the help, and he could never really say no to her.

Morning light filtered through grimy windows. Ahmad returned, stomach churning with something he couldn’t quite name.

The mural was transformed. In places, it was unrecognizable. Beautiful, undeniably. But foreign. He could see the essence of his urban dreamscape, but it was layered under tight, precise control.

It was good. Really good, even.

"Do I have your attention? I said look at this section here. I couldn’t quite decide if..."

The dark circles under Fati’s eyes, her tremoring hands, the desperate hope in her eyes as she droned on. And he wondered: who is this for?

"So, don't you love it?"

"It's great, sister. Thanks for all your help."

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Next in the series:

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