Seed Painter

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic

Just some chill writing :)

He finished up the portrait of her. "You have such a beautiful figure, Claire." He spoke to her with gentleness and with an easy flow of thought.  The young lady couldn't help but smile, because not only did she need that compliment to take on the rest of her horrible day, but Adwin was handsome, having all the features a woman could want in a man. Adwin looked away as she put back on her clothes, for he was an artist with respect, not only for all the different styles of art such as nude portraits or the weird blocky and abstract ones but also the requests of man. Adwin rushed to the door to open it up for Claire. Before she disappeared, she winked at Adwin.
He always refrained from flirting with his patrons as to remain legitimate. Later, however, things might change for Adwin.

The week followed. On Tuesday Adwin went to the store to fetch some fresh fruit and oats. In his mind popped a thought, "I wonder if I'll get my big break this week."  This was the first of the seed to be sown inside Adwin's inferior mind. He got two bottles of water from the store as well. Then he joyfully walked back to his apartment. A person came to his door that night and knocked. This man was covered in black, but he needed Adwin desperately.
Adwin struggled to get up and even though when he talked to the strange man happily, he was annoyed. The man pleaded, "I've destroyed a painting, need to help me!"
Adwin rubbed his eyes and saw that the man held a large canvas in his hands. He shouldn't have advertised himself as "Anytime and any-what. I'll get the painting done for you." It made himself open to all sorts of obscure people and thoughts. Often he enjoyed the challenge and odd people to come to his door. This was the first someone had come at 2 am.
"Come inside," Adwin replied cautiously. He turned on the light and gestured that the canvas is to be put onto the table. He rubbed his eyes again, finally focussing through the haze of sleep onto the painting. Even if it had claw marks torn across, he recognized it. The painting of Madam Dellusio, famous, expensive and ruined forever...unless Adwin could fix it.
He looked into the man's eyes and gasped, "How long?"
"Three days!"
"It cannot be done."
"I'll lose my head if you don't, please," he begged.
Adwin didn't want to take the offer, but he wasn't about to back down. This man would give him so much money...his big break.
He accepted the deal and let the man depart after he gave Adwin some early fee for the work. "I'll sleep for 4 hours and fresh in the morning, I'll begin anew."
And he did just that.

At 6 o'clock, Wednesday, he took two easels, placed them side by side. The one to the side of Adwin held the torn painting and the other a blank canvas. He inspected the stylized figure, artistic techniques and mediums used. Madam Dellusio was a historic figure to this town. She helped save its people long ago when the famine managed to already kill seventy people here, but just in time, she arrived to save the rest and stop the casualties. The painting was offered by the greatest painter at that time as thanks and ever since then, it was passed down to her children who lived in her manor. The painting is a portrait of the madam, with added angel wings burning away death and insects and famine. It had wonderful brushwork, and the various textures created by the painter was brilliant! Adwin had to try his very best!

Thursday, he doubted he could do it. He hated to waste time eating and sleeping, but he was still human, a human who needed money and who needed to fit in the worldly structures of consumerism somehow. He was finished with the background and the lining of the woman and her angelic wings.

Friday, the day of reckoning, he woke up at 2 am again. He couldn't sleep and rushed down to the painting. With one hour of sleep, he worked effortlessly until the man arrived at three in the afternoon.
It was finished. Finally, Adwin could breathe and eat, and sleep. He almost collapsed to the ground, but it was finished, a replica, no an even-better-than-the-original-replica. It shined with new splendour and new technique. Some would say he failed, and the man in black did say that, but Adwin worked so hard...he bested the nature of human care. He didn't worry anymore. The man reduced the amount that he would give to Adwin and walked away with the new painting covered in cloth. Adwin fell asleep on the floor.

On the news Saturday, the hosts buzzed about the painting's sudden change and enhancement. People realized it had suddenly become more vibrant and the man that hired Adwin told them it was magical, the full moon of last night woke him and he rushed to see the painting in the main hall. There he witnessed its change. The spirit of Madam Dellusio is with us in the hard times approaching. Many people went to go see the improved painting and paid an excessive amount to make a pilgrimage to it.
Adwin stared blankly at a wall as he ate some fruit with his oats. Afterwards, he lied down in his bed. "I'll never amount to anything more than that."
"And no one will ever know it was me."
He fell asleep and slept for the rest of Saturday and most of Sunday, only awakening when he needed to use the bathroom or drink some water.
The days were slow to him, but to everyone else, short and flew by in a flash. 
Monday, he managed to get out of bed and stare at a new blank canvas. He didn't paint anything.
Tuesday, he cried a little, as he tried to paint something, but couldn't find any inspiration.
Wednesday, he went out for food and drink, and when he came back, he realized something was wrong within him. His inferior mind thought, "This world is nothing but a beast, devouring all of man for energy."
He saw people as selfish and dangerous and he saw himself that way as well. Self-loathing was the second seed to be planted into his being. His failure to succeed and his dark thoughts that he felt like no one would understand for his mind was his own and could never be peered into by another, not even the family he had. Adwin would tell no one. He painted for himself that day.
Thursday, he indulged his thoughts as truth, the third seed to be sown. The money was running out now and the prices would soon be increased because of the outbreak. So he reluctantly opened his services once more.

Friday came, and Claire was at the door. She requested another painting of herself. That day, after the painting was finished, selfish Adwin made his move. The woman was seduced and they spent the rest of the day together, indulging in the momentary pleasure of the flesh. Adwin worked by day and craved at night.

Several weeks passed and Adwin was on the brink of insanity. He lost connection with reality and the reflection in the mirror didn't feel like him. He'd get unhappy at the favourable comments on his works, considering them unreal, though he never showed his unhappiness. The only time when he felt real was when his body was joined with another. Other than those times, he bathed in isolation, the fourth seed. 

Disgust settled in. He wished the world was different and questioned the afterlife. Recently he got the inspiration to paint something large, impressive and even rivalling the greatness of Madam Dellusio, but each time he picked up the brush and paint, he felt the world couldn't meaningfully express his thought. This reality was limited by nature, and he strived for something more expressive. For the next five days, he scoured with absolute dedication, the fifth seed. He would give the world something to remember. This inspiration could save his life. It could be the next breakthrough. He didn't know what exactly he was looking for. It could be some exotic pigment or a foreign painting tool, maybe something unconventional used in paintings such as hope, freedom or faith in a world of unequalled expression. Adwin found nothing of such. Instead, he found darkness and despair and depression. 
His romantic interest, Claire, tried her best to help him, begged Adwin to tell her his problems, but he pushed Claire away, knowing the gist of what she would say and knowing it won't help. He tried, but couldn't find the words, and he tried to paint the feelings but was unable to find meaning. The sixth seed was too much for Claire to handle, and she left Adwin. 

He was so broken, seven, and desperately tried to think about ways to escape his circumstances. To him, he was far too deep down. Adwin couldn't focus anymore. Even when he ate his oats. In some other life, he could have been the next big artist. He reminisced to memories he wished he had. He spent most of his money to soothe himself.
It wasn't long until the eighth seed was sown and they started to grow. It took only a couple of days to burst into a tree inside of him. 
Nine. He released the strings of reality and information in him, to the world and shared himself with all of the universes, finally reaching the state of expression he needed. Still, he wasn't sure if it was right or wrong to do so, especially now, because no other human could tell him the answer.

Submitted: May 23, 2020

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