The Painting

Painting on the wall of a boy sitting in a corner.
A dark, dark corner.
Not any ordinary painting, as you will find out soon.
Look at it. Stare at it. Concentrate.

Tick, tock.
Tick, tock.
Tick, tock.

From the analog clock hung next the painting.






It's time.



ZOOOOOOOOM. Into the painting you go.

You see the boy...
He sits in the corner of the room, panting hard.
Drops of sweat trickle down his face.
He's half naked, only clothed in a pair of bermudas.
He holds his right hand in his left.
Get ahold of himself, he's trying to do.
Not to lose himself to what society deems as insanity.
A mirror sits next to him.
Mocking him seems to be it's purpose.

"Look at me." It whispers.

The whispers echo in his ears.
He does not respond.

"Look at me." It whispers again.

The whispers echo in his ears again.
Only this time it gets louder and louder...


Snap.


"WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?! LEAVE ME ALONE!"
"Quiet... Look at me, just look at me."

He calms down a little as his sudden anger subsides.
He turns and peeps at the mirror through his hair.
Long wavy hair that's wet with shadows, masking his face.

"You... I know you." He whispers under his breath.

It was himself, from a long time ago.
From a time when he was carefree.
From a time when he had fun.
From a time when he was happy.
He smiles at himself and all of a sudden
The mirror shatters.
He closes his eyes as the glasses pieces fly towards him.
They miss every part of him except for one - his heart.
The piece of glass injects pain into him.
Excruciating pain.
He falls to side, into the bits & pieces of glass.
They pierce his skin, fresh & deep.

"Argh... Help. Help me."

You step forward to help him up.
It all seems so weird to help a boy in a painting, does it not?
But you have to, he's hurting bad.
Emotionally and physically.

"Thank you stranger... Thank you so much."
He speaks to you in a soft but grateful tone.
His eyes sparkle like sapphire as he speaks, as tears fill 'em up.
Little droplets of sadness start escaping his eyes.
Rolling slowly, drop by drop, down his bloody face.
He grabs your hand and pulls you near.
Your hand is now stained with his blood and shadows.
Shadows? Yes. Shadows.


"You see these cuts and bruises all over me? You see how bloody and ridiculous I look right now?"

You hesistate for a second before nodding.

"They are nothing, nothing compared to what I've been through in this so-called Life of mine. Trying to fit in, to figure out why I'm here, to get good grades, to look beautiful, to be popular... To survive. To be me. Though I'm all helpless and bloody now, I feel at ease with myself. I feel like I don't have to care what anybody thinks about me. I'm just here, in my own world. I don't have to live up to anybody's expectations. I don't have to look and dress a certain way. I'm just being me and I feel good though it hurts. The painting you were looking at is how I feel about my life and now you are in it... In the deepest chambers of my once existent heart..."

He looks you deep in the eye.

"All I ever needed was for someone to listen and understand. Not to bombard me with criticism and doubt... and you listened. Thank you, whoever you are. Thank you..."

He starts fading off into nothingness.
You sit there alone, wondering what just happened.
After a few moments spent pondering, you stand up.
You walk towards the door slowly.
Taking every step as if it was your last.
Before exiting, you turn on the lights of the room.






WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSH.





You get lost in your own darkness.





... Hello? Anybody???


Hmmm. I must be asleep.
What a weird dream that was.
That boy was kinda scary.
It all seemed so real.
So, so real...
Wait, what am I doing here in this darkness?




You open your eyes.







You're in your room, in a corner.
Next to you sits a broken mirror.
Bits & pieces of glass are scattered around you.
And, the lights are on.


Nightmare? No.


Sweet dreams are made of these


And who are you to disagree?

The End.