MIRAGE
Epilogue
There was once a
boy who paints with weird colors...
The boy’s name
is Indigo.
When Indigo was
six he became very fond of painting. Isabella, his mother and a known local
artist, taught him. He grew a passion towards it and dream't of becoming a
great artist someday. Unfortunately, Isabella was becoming anxious for Indigo.
She noticed that he couldn't properly see the colors. Until such time that they
figured out that he has color blindness.
One night when
he was 14, he had a nightmare and painted the creature he saw. After polishing
it, he was startled by the tiny voice he was hearing. Someone was talking and
he was alone at the house that time. He couldn't move. Not even an inch. He was
cold as ice and his shaking was already palpable.
He gather all
the remaining strength in his system and slowly turn to his right side. There
he saw the creature he just painted. Talking. Moving. He couldn't believe what
he was seeing that he even forgot how breathe. The tension was so high in him
that he passed out instantly.
When the morning
came, he was found by his mother on the exact same spot. Curled up and terrified.
He told Isabella
of what he had encountered. Isabella, though, didn't thought of it much. She
assumed that that was only a fragment of his son's imagination.
As days went by,
Indigo would not stop having nightmares. He could not sleep properly. Afraid
that he would only be in the darkness with his monster creatures.
Indigo resisted
until he could not take it anymore. He decided to paint all the creatures he
was seeing. Hoping that it might go away and just stay on the canvass. Disastrously,
what he painted all came true. Every single one of them. They were mumbling
things at him. Giving him no space to move and think. Now he was more scared
than ever.
Every day the
same situation would occur. At day, voices would mumble at him and the
'monsters' would follow him everywhere. While at night, he couldn't stand
sleeping due to his unending nightmares. He was afraid that his nightmares may
lead him on painting another creature.
He became
restless and paranoid. Every passing day he would look more horrible than ever.
His hair always unruly. He has big dark rings around his eyes and his cheeks
were now hallowed.
Isabella became
bothered of what is happening to his son. She noticed that he doesn't paint
anymore and became more distant. She thought that it was part of adolescence.
But she think twice when she saw his transformations and his last paintings,
which was months ago, were different. Somewhat bothering. They were mostly
composed of dark shades like black, gray, brown, light brown and white and are
all portrait of scary creatures.
She then
remembered the day she found him. The story she did not believed. So that night, she talked to her son. Asking
what is wrong and what is happening. At first he was hesitant to tell her
everything, but he did.
Not believing
but was concerned, she decided to take Indigo to a Psychiatrist. And there the
doctor immediately diagnosed his illness.
HE HAS
SCHIZOPHRENIA…
There was a boy
who could not distinguish reality from his mind's fantasy...
"Aweish
ikur ikur orikartuer. Porequo kishazhidaghu.
Waaaashiiiiiiteeraaabiituuuroooooo. Geshiiitaareerooo."
"Stop
mumbling at me!! Please, just stop. Let me rest!!" I shouted as the
monsters I created mumbles all day at me.
I'm used to it. After all, it's been 7 years
since I first heard and saw a monster I created.
Sometimes, I
still get annoyed with their noises but mostly they scare me. They scare me
especially now that mom is gone and I have to live all by myself.
At times, they
just mumble random things but sometimes I can clearly hear what they are saying
to me. Asking me to do bad things and all of it is driving me nuts. And only a
thread line is now holding my sanity. A little more push and it might snap.
I would always
think that I'm the unluckiest guy on earth. I mean what can be worse than being
followed by dozens of monsters every single day and hearing them constantly corrupt
your mind? Of course there is, as you must know, I also cannot see the world as
it is. All I see if dull things. But what totally sucks is that I cannot paint
anymore. Do you even know how hard it is to stop your dream. To stop your
passion because you are now afraid that things will go wrong if you continue?
Do you? OF COURSE NOT, RIGHT? HOW WOULD YOU KNOW? YOU'RE NORMAL.
One day, I was reading a magazine who featured
a deceased girl. They were giving her tribute due to her magnificent art works.
I was in awe, really. Until my monsters convinced me to tear the page apart,
which I did.
After realizing
what t happened, I was so frustrated with what I had done. So I went to bed and
I cried there for hours until it felt like my eyes is swollen that there is no
more choice then to sleep.
"Hello,"
I heard an unfamiliar voice in my dream. I look around trying to find it. A few
moments later a girl appeared in front of me. She was smiling, showing her
pearly white teeth and her crinkled eyes. I was stunned for a few minutes but when
I was about to say something, she disappeared.
I immediately
woke up feeling excited and curious. I haven't felt anything for a long time
except fear, fear and fear.
That girl she
kept on replaying in the back of my head and just thinking of her makes my aura
a little bit lighter than usual. (I mean I would always choose to see a
beautiful girl rather than monsters).
She was
beautiful. She's the only different thing I've ever encountered in my dreams. I
always thought that I could only dream of monsters and gory scenes. Now who
could have thought that I can dream of a beautiful girl.
As I saw her, her
hair was flowing in the wind. She was different. She was not dull like all my
dreams. Her color was vivid. So alive and mesmerizing. Even if I can’t tell which is which from the
colors, I can only attest that they are beautiful.
I was thinking of her all day and
I was Eager to sleep again, so I can see her face again, but unfortunately, I
was insomniac. I sit on the edge of my bed. Starring at my hands. Focusing on
her smile.
"You know,
I can read your mind. I hear every words and thoughts that you have. And right
now, your head is full of me. Uhm, thank you for your compliments," she
said coyly. I was startled but mostly embarrassed. "Don't be shy. It’s
okay. I appreciate it," she added.
"Where'd
you come from," I asked feeling lame about myself. I could ask so many
questions and here I am asking the dopiest question ever.
"From your
thoughts, I guess," she replied. Of course she’s from my mind. I’m a
dum-dum.
"But how?
And why? I don't get it? And why can I see your colors? And why do you exist like
that when I never painted you?" I asked eagerly.
"Well, my
theory on my existence is that I was that dream that you always wanted but was
hidden on the deepest part of your mind. And maybe something you had seen had
triggered your brain to remember me to be alive in your thoughts once again.
Actually, even I can see those creatures. Like that monster on the side right
now. I can see them. And I think they can see me as well. We were not made by
your paintings. We were made by your excessive thoughts of us. You made us look
real by merely focusing your thoughts on us. By the way, I'm Hope," she
said in a calm and relaxing voice.
"Oh, I didn't knew that.
Uhm, I guess you were triggered by the girl in the magazine I read? I was
really amazed by her and her artworks. I’m Indigo, nice to meet you," I
said hesitantly.
"I guess so and Oh, I know
you already. I know everything about you. I'm in your mind so I can access
everything I want," she giggles.
"I... I… I
hope you don't access it all," I said blushing. "I... Uhm... Find
your colors interesting but I don't know what they are. Can you… Uhm... Teach
me?" I asked nervously.
"Sure. It'll be my honor to
help," she said.
So as what have been planned.
Hope taught Indigo all the colors she could manage to teach. He wasn't getting
it for the first time but the patience of Hope brought it all to his senses.
Months passed.
Indigo would
often say to her that his favorite is the color red. She would often ask why
and he would reason out that it is the color of the roses. But what he could
not say is that, it is the color of the roses he wanted to give to her and he
think of it rarely. Scared that Hope might read it as well.
Hope also helped
him to overcome his fear in painting. She was so persistent that he actually
started to paint again and this time it was a little brighter than the ones he
used to make back then.
He was also
starting to control his thoughts on the monsters. Sometimes, he would not
notice, but a day or two would past without him hearing any mumbling nor seeing
any of the strange creature. He was so focused on Hope that his thoughts on the
monsters were becoming less and less.
He was starting
to have a bright aura. One he didn't knew he had for a long time. Little by
little he was transforming into someone new. His messy hair was somehow
manageable. The dark rings under his eyes were less emphasized and he was
feeling less lethargic. He can also determine some colors now.
But more
importantly, he has something he didn't have before and that is HOPE. He had a
reason to live for, and that was Her.
Little by
little, everything that was wrong before was becoming right. Unfortunately,
Hope’s presence was becoming less and less. He rarely see her. He would search
for her even in the deepest of his thoughts but she's not there. She would just
pop out at times when he badly needs her.
Frustrated by
her absence, he planned to surprise her so that she'll be there more often. So
he decided to paint her and make her his greatest masterpiece. And so he did.
Every time he
would paint he would think less of her. So that she would not be able to pop
out of nowhere and ruin the surprise.
He painted her
looks when they were watching the sunset in his dreams. “She was so innocent
and beautiful,” he thought.
When he finished
it, he was so proud of himself. For once he felt like he was the great artist
that he was meant to be. It was the most colorful and wonderful piece he had
created.
He immediately
searched for Hope in his thoughts and even convinced himself that he badly need
her right away. So he waited for her that day but she never came. Not even on
his dreams.
Two days had
passed and he still can't find her nor summon her out of his mind. He was
starting to panic. Starting to get anxious. That night he cried feeling
hopeless that he won’t be able to see her again. That he wasn't even able to
tell her that he loves her.
"I love you, Hope," he mumbled as he
closed his eyes.
"I love you, too,'' she
replied in his dreams.
Stunned and
happy, he hugged her "Where were you? I was so worried. Are you okay? Why
are you so pale? What happened? Please don’t do that again," he was
fighting his tears. Wanting not to cry in front of her.
"I have
something to tell you," she said in a low shaky voice. "Indigo, I
wanted to be with you. I wanted to see you. I wanted to be there but I
couldn't. I did everything. I thought you were just not thinking of me that
time. But deep down I knew you were and that's why I decided to find an
answer," she was starting to cry. Her tears at the side of her eyes.
"I cannot
stay anymore. Just like your monsters, I was just a fragment of your
imagination. And you can only see me due to your sickness. I was a product of
your Schizophrenia. What we didn't know was that while the monsters were
disappearing you were getting cured, little by little. And because you were
getting cured, I was disappearing, too. I am pale because as you learn your
colors. As you acquire them, you were taking it from me. I am a part of your
mind remember? So if there is any way you would get those colors in your system
then it is from me. I was the dream you had longed for but couldn't attain
because your eyes could not see them properly."
"B-but...,"
he mumbled.
"You were
able to learn because I was placing it directly to your brain. That’s why you
can see my colors," she said crying.
He could not
hold it anymore. He hugged her and cried, too. He sobs. Desperate to do
anything for her to stay. But it was too late.
"But I love
you, is that not enough? I love you that much that my heart is being torn and
that my mind always thinks of you," he cried. "Please stay. Please. I
beg of you. I can’t live without you! I don’t want to be able to see colors if
I could not see them with you. I can be with my monsters forever if it means
you’ll be with me too," his sobs becoming louder and louder.
"I love
you, too, but I can’t. If I only have a choice I would always choose to stay. Stay
here. Stay with you. Stay here for the rest of our lives. But I can’t,"
she cups his face and kissed him. "I saw your art and it's the most
magnificent piece ever. May it always remind you of me. You're my reality. Good
bye now, Indigo," and she slowly drifted away in his dreams.
He woke up.
Sobbing. Crying his heart out. He didn't knew what to do. He didn’t not knew
how to live without her.
So he went where he hid the painting and cried
himself again and again and again.
Once
more, he was Hopeless.
Epilogue
A young artist just finished
reading a piece of paper that he found inside a small pocket of a paint canvas.
He was in tears as he folds the paper and puts it back.
The guy curious and inspired set
forward to find the life of the artist who made the painting and he who wrote
the weird story. So he went to ask everyone about it.
Later on, he found out that the
painting was said to be an artwork of an artist who committed suicide due to
his Schizophrenia. They said he made it during his last days and that the
artist would often say to the nurses that the painting was his masterpiece, but
none of them would often appreciate it. It was just painting of guy painting a
colorful girl. Plain and dull they said.
So
people who would see the artwork would often leave a comment saying that the
artist lack authenticity, but what they didn’t know was that there was a story
behind it.
A story that would ignite the value
of the painting.
On the back page of the paper with
the story, a short note was written.
“Au monde qui perd la créativité et
aux gens qui sont perdus. Je vous offre ma dernière oeuvre. Au Revoir.”- Hugo
Luis
Dream Catcher
