The Persona
PSYCHOLOGYENGLISHJUNE 2024
7/3/20244 min read
The city lights flickered like distant stars as I strolled down the dimly lit street, my footsteps echoing through the quiet evening. The persistent image of an old crime article I had read earlier about a mysterious disappearance in our neighbourhood refused to dissipate. A famous artist last seen 5 years ago in her then newly opened studio in this neighbourhood.
As I ambled along, engrossed in contemplation, a faint rustling behind me disrupted the silence. I turned swiftly, half-expecting a lurking presence, but the empty street greeted me. My heartbeat quickened, attributing the sound to my overactive imagination. To regain composure, I focused on the rhythmic clacking of my heels against the pavement and the clicking of my smartphone’s keys.
The glow of my smartphone screen illuminated my face, casting an eerie glow. A headline caught my attention, revealing the unsolved disappearance of a famous artist. Memories flooded back—a vivid art gallery, vibrant paintings, and the soft voice of the missing woman echoing through the room.
With every step my unease grew. The street seemed to extend endlessly, and the distant hum of the city became both a comforting lullaby and an ominous undertone. I pondered the artist's disappearance, contemplating if there was more beneath the surface of the seemingly tranquil narrative.
Suddenly, a notification popped up on my phone—a breaking news alert. The headline seized my attention: "New Clues Surface in Long-standing Missing Person Case." My heart raced as I read about a potential breakthrough, though the details remained cryptic, veiled in uncertainty. The artist herself was a mystery, nobody knows anything about her past, her story was solely her paintings.
Drawn into the allure of the unfolding mystery, I quickened my pace. Street lamps cast long shadows, adding a layer of suspense to the atmosphere. Scrolling through news articles, I came across some of her paintings released few days before her disappearance “The whisper of red streets”.
A quiet alley came into view, and my eyes widened with realization. The missing artist had a profound connection to this very street. Her paintings drew inspiration from the hidden stories of these narrow lanes, leaving one to wonder if her disappearance was somehow linked to the secrets concealed within the city's embrace.
My senses heightened, attuned to the surroundings. A distant sound, reminiscent of a whisper, echoed through the alley. My breath caught as the possibility dawned—had the missing artist strategically placed clues within her artwork, waiting for someone to unravel the truth?
It felt like a revelation, a coded message awaiting deciphering. The mystery, once confined to news articles, had manifested on the very streets beneath my feet.
Compelled by newfound determination, I scrutinized the paintings, searching for hidden meaning within the strokes and hues. The missing artist had embedded her story within the artwork—a silent plea for someone to understand the depth of her vanishing.
However, with every revelation, an unsettling feeling gnawed at the edges of my consciousness. I came across one of her most famous paintings “The Persona”, a young teenage girl with terrified expression with bloody hands and a beautiful mask. I began to hyperventilate; It became hard for me to breathe.
A memory again resurfaced—One evening, as the city's lights flickered in rhythmic cadence, I stumbled upon a forgotten journal in a dusty corner of my apartment. Its pages unveiled a darker truth—a truth I had tried to bury beneath layers of denial. The entries, penned in my own hand, detailed the accidental demise of the missing artist. I could still remember that night 5 years ago as if it was yesterday.
“What is Persona?” I asked.
“The mask you wear to hide your truth, the real you.” She replied.
“Your paintings, feels like they’re keeping secrets.”
“Art is meant to be interpreted, not about revealing secrets.” She became defensive.
“What if the secrets within these paintings are worth uncovering? Imagine the stories we might find”
“You are overthinking this.” She said aggressively.
“Some secrets are meant to be exposed.”
It was raining heavily outside and I took shelter in the old abandoned house turned into a new gallery and came across her. As the conversation became heated, I took a step forward. In an unintended moment of tension, I shove the artist away, accidentally sending her crashing into the concealed entrance of a hidden passage. The body disappears into the darkness, leaving behind a mystery that would never be solved.
The missing artist's spirit, far from being an external enigma, was a haunting presence within me—a presence demanding acknowledgment and redemption.
The city lights continued to flicker, indifferent to the personal drama unfolding within its confines.
With the weight of the truth upon me, I found myself retracing the same path, haunted by the echoes of the past. The smartphone, once a tool for decoding mysteries, now felt like a silent witness to the secrets concealed within my own conscience.
As I reached the end of the street, a sense of closure enveloped me.
The mystery was not solved, but a path had been revealed. The missing artist's spirit lingered in the city's forgotten corners. With the night fully enveloping the street, I walked away with a renewed sense of purpose, smartphone still in hand. The suspense lingered, and the mystery remained unsolved.
News Alert ‘due to lack of evidence, the case has been closed’.
And as I continued to walk down the dimly lit street, the rhythmic clacking of my heels mirrored the relentless beat of a heart burdened by the weight of unintended consequences.
Like a masked persona.
~Ruchi Kumari