The Great Genius Dream: A Short Story

The Great Genius
Dream
The warm sunshine shone across the window and heated my quilt. After stretched myself with a lazy yawn. I rubbed my eyes with my two hands and put my face into the woolen pillow, trying to hit the snooze again. But I told uncle Francesco I will help him with chores today, a voice appeared in my mind(SparkNotes Editor, 2017). I put on my large tunic quickly, jumped out of the bed, and jogged to the kitchen. The only food remained is a piece of bread. It’s been a long time since father went to Florence to work(SparkNotes Editor, 2017). I ate a corner of the last piece of bread and went out. Aye, That’s tasteless. Maybe uncle Francesco could give me some strawberry jam, I was barefoot, for the sunshine warmed the stony

“Which masterpiece are you working on right now?” He asked curiously. “Well. I was working on a large mural for the refectory of the monastery of Santa Maria delle Grazie. Sforza invited me to draw it. . Since I helped draw the angel for Verrocchio, my fame seemed like raised a lot. Could you please teach me more about math? You know, I never had a secondary education before.” “My pleasure, me friend.” He

While I had been looking at the blank space on the back wall of the refectory for days, a awesome idea suddenly came up in my mind. Sforza wants a large portrayal of Jesus' Last Supper. Um, others always drew them eating and sitting around a round table. That’s boring. How about drawing them sitting next to a long table. This way I could show every single tiny emotional movement on their faces(SparkNotes, 2017).

At the meantime, Sforza walked over slowly with a glum face. “Hey Sforza! I’ve got a awesome plan. Now I need some live models.” His face turned surprised. “Jeez! Finally you will start painting! I can’t believe……” “Yeah, but I need lots of models. I will choose thirteen of them. Don’t just bring me thirteen. Do it now, please!” I interrupted. Sforza left in a hurry and left a clop-clop sound. “huh, Let’s have a try.” I whispered to myself. When the brush with grey oil pigment on it smeared the wall, it deteriorated. I never learned how to paint a mural. It’s apparent that using oil is useless. I had to find my way to do it. “It’s so hard to make it stay on the wall. Hey! Salai! Salai! Where are you?”(SparkNotes,