3am

     We hopped the rickety fence in front of the abandoned insane asylum to mark our territory just as we did in every other 3am adventure. Armed with nothing but flashlights, cell phone cameras, and spray paint, we crept through halls filled with paint chips and faded footprints.

     I knew no fear and neither did anyone else who followed me. I always reminded them that we weren’t a gang. We were artists. There’s a difference between a quick signature and an anonymous mural that might make people think outside of their 9 to 5 boxes. That’s what the cameras were for, and as for the 3am thing, well, that’s the hour when things get serious and philosophy becomes as casual as text message break-ups.

So I took us all there to face our history because we are the descendants of the deranged– the out-of-mind-minds that once roamed these halls, convinced everything was both fine and falling apart.

I asked my friend Google about Grandma Stasi and he said “Did you mean Stacey?” and I said “No, I mean my Grandma Stasi who started a revolution and set the insane asylum on fire to purify it” and he said he couldn’t find anything. I told him he was stupid and promised him results by the end of the week.

I made the choice to paint Grandma Stasi on these walls last night at 2am. That gave me 25 hours, which is more than most people have in a day. I remember her pressing her hands against her face and screaming like that famous painting I saw in a museum one time except I knew for sure when I saw it that it was Grandma Stasi. She told everyone that they had to pass through fire to remove all the impurities. I don’t know how she got fire into the building, but she got it and spread it around to everyone else and then they spread it around until the whole building burned down. Maybe she got it from heaven.

Spray paint is cheap, but you can make something with it that anyone can see. I told my companions to hold this and give me that while I worked, stopping only to take pictures of my progress. When I finished, I stepped back and said “This is art” and told the others it was their turn, so they painted.

They swear I was never there that night, but I told them the truth and nothing but the truth so help me God. I told them the truth from the beginning of time to Grandma Stasi to my artwork. I told them about Google and how I got pictures for him, but when they talked to Google he said he didn’t have anything.

I know I went there and painted Grandma Stasi. I went there at 3am when things are blurry and everyone’s a bit tired, but artwork flows smoother than a stream after a storm. I painted something that even the longest memories have forgotten just to prove it’s real. It’s real because Grandma Stasi is real and her fire from heaven is real and 3am is real and I–I painted it all.

—-

Taylor Ramage earned her B.A. in Creative Writing from Eastern University. She enjoys experimenting with different types of writing and is a bona fide nerd who believes that great stories can come in any form whether they’re films, cartoons, books, video games, or CDs. In addition to fiction and poetry, Taylor writes a variety of web articles and maintains a blog: http://taylorramage.wordpress.com. You may also follow her on Twitter @TaylorRamage and/or contact her at tr_ramage@hotmail.com.