1 Impressionist

Since the beginnings of my childhood, I believe I've always had a strange yet harmless fascination with death.

I've thought of three deaths: Death by drowning. Death by burning. And lastly, death by freezing.

Each is a fantastic scene using various elements that all tie up the piece.

Each uses it's own unique color palette and special symbols.

I've wondered which I would prefer. I've been asked several times as well, and I noticed that I've never once chosen to die by fire.

Often times, the question never even mentions drowning, and so I always chose death by freezing.

But now, my answer has changed.

I find that blues void of artificiality are beautiful, and that I want to be entrapped by it more than anything, In my final moments on this earth, for which I am constantly being challenged by, I wish to drown along with all my sorrows. For no matter where my feet take me, nor the amount of sharpened pebbles or prickly thorns that scratch the flesh, I cannot leave my worries alone, nor they me. So in togetherness we shall fall, both my eyes and hands are embraced by my heart and soul.


"Hmm. This is one of your best pieces, Kinshi."

"...Is that so?"

"Hmm. Do you find that hard to believe?"

"...I suppose...I've never seen any of my pieces as more than...mere blobs of color."

"Then surely, you're doing it right. In the end, that's what a painting is. Various colors used to form the most absurd of shapes that make no real sense to anyone. Not even to the painter themselves."

"That...can't possible be it."

"Hmm. Tell me; what is it that art means to you?"

"That's just it...I haven't the faintest idea..."


So many things in the world so deeply affect the quality of a painting.

The temperature, the weather, even the way the clouds are in way of the sun.

Small things like that, trivial as they are, are what make a simple painting different from a masterpiece.

Where I live, I'm able to unapologetically do what I love. Without feeling gloom due to the pounding of the rain, but filled with content and gratitude to the pitter-patter of the water droplets that race down my windows. I'm truly grateful for those moments.


"Ah, you've finally answered!"

"Ah...I apologize."

"Yeah, yeah. Tell me all about it once I take a shower. You up on your water bill?"

"...yes. Everything of yours is still upstairs."



"Okay, so now that we're all settled, you need to explain yourself. I've been trying to contact you for over ten months and not once in that time did you answer!"

He gasped dramatically.


"...No...I've been at school."

"Oh. Not gonna lie, that was the worst excuse for ignoring your best friend for ten months for."

"But didn't you yourself...say that you liked me because I'm honest?"

"Eh? What are you pouting for? I mean, come on! Over ten months of complete and utter silence(not that that's not unusual for you...)but because of school? Did they take your phone or something? It doesn't take very long to send a text message every once in a while."


"Oh for the love of-You still don't have a phone?"

"...I've never needed one. You always find a way to meet up with me anyhow."

"Okay one: don't phrase it like that, you're making me sound like a stalker. Two, you're at home for majority of the time so it's really not all that hard to meet up. Thirdly, even if you think you don't need one, it makes things a lot easier."

"...Then...should I get one?"

"Hey. Look at me."

He's typically a very silly, charismatic person. This was the first time that I'd ever seen him wearing such a serious expression...

"Make your own decisions."


"Uwahhhh! I'm exhausted! I'm gonna hit the hay. Ever since my uncle decided to kick me out of my own place, I've been sleeping under a bridge. Good night!"


When I was younger, I would watch my father drawing. I remember that it was late at night; I could never fall asleep. Perhaps it was because of my loud mind or the outrageous thumping of my heart, I didn't know. I'd crawl out of bed, holding a stuffed animal of a pink bear, and walk down the hall to my father's little study.

He never used the light. He only ever used candles, which smelled of the amazons; lush and soulful, as well as tranquil and nostalgic.

The house was old, so the door would always creak when I went on the very tips of my toes to turn the knob. And every time, he obviously knew it was me. He'd turn in his chair and smile at me, making a gesture for me to come closer. I'd smile back and hug my teddy bear closer to my chest before running over.

He'd lift me up off the floor and sit me in his lap, make sure I was comfortable, and continue drawing.

For nearly three hours every night, I'd sit in his lap or by the edge of his large wooden desk, watching as he etched every thought, every dream, and ever feeling on the piece of paper with his pencil. We'd talk and share laughs, but mainly breathed in the calming atmosphere.

I always admired him for his skills as a humble artist. In my eyes, he was the best.


"Ahh, man that was the best sleep I've had in months! Hmm? Kinshi?"

He wrapped his blanket tightly around his body before plopping down on the couch, looking at me even through his tired eyes.

"Don't tell me I'm talking to another one of your clones or something. Well...I could be hallucinating...I'm pretty sure the old man from the bridge gave me poison. Huh. Well, if I am talking to a clone, then surely Kinshi wouldn't mind if I just...fell asleep...on her couch..."


He shot up from the couch and, albeit a bit clumsily, managed to sit back up and look at me.

"Yes dear?"

"...Do you think...my father would be disappointed...if I gave up art?"

He didn't say anything, not for a while. He then got up from the couch and came to sit next to me, fishing his phone out of his pocket.

He then showed me his phone to take and when I did, I saw a picture of my dad and me. It was taken a couple of years ago, we were standing in front of his greatest painting. The canvas was massive and held up on an easel, and we were at the beach. We were standing off to the left, his hand on my shoulder with a bright smile on his face. Behind us, was the most extraordinary sunset I'd ever seen. Ata had captured the moment so well, it felt as if I were being taken back in time to that very day.

"Well, I don't quite think you're able to, in all honesty. If anything, I trust you to drown in paint till the day the fumes get to your head and all you can think about anymore is the difference between vermillion and orange or phthalo blue and ultramarine."

"...I'm surprised you know those colors..."

"Ah, the things I have to learn for you. Kinshi, my brain is filled with useless knowledge of colors and you haven't even thanked me!"


"Hmm?? You got a phone??? When?!"

"...if you message me a lot...I'll block you..."

"HA! Kinshi, I doubt you even know how to! Now that I have your number, I'll spam you like there's no tomorrow!"

"...you'll spam me...?"

"Yup. Over two hundred messages in half an hour! I'll send you the full script of 'Romeo and Juliet' and 'The Bee Movie'!!"

I didn't quite understand everything he was talking about, but his voice and face were so cheerful I couldn't help but smile with him. I took his hand and squeezed it, silently thanking him and hoping he'd understand. I guess it's been that long already, since he did.


A few weeks after Ata came up to my door and slept over due to his own place being occupied, I'd realized once more how warm and cozy my house was when he visits. The difference was so shockingly significant, that when he left, the cold instantly swept over me.

It truly felt as though I were standing in water that reached up to my waist, and a fierce wave born from nothing, had suddenly crashed against my body. Mercilessly.

At first, it was so sudden I couldn't quite tell what had happened. Then, I was shivering so violently that I could barely think of anything. But as more days passed, I had grown accustomed to the cold again, and could finally resume my work.


"A new piece already?"

"...I couldn't quite finish the other...so I started another..."

"Ah, so the cycle of WIPs begins."


"Work In Progress."


"Kinshi, I heard you were contemplating of, well, all of this."

"...I have been...when I pick up a brush coated evenly with paint, my canvas is no longer blank. Instead...it becomes an emotional mess...it becomes so messy, that it only looks of mindless scribbles."

My finger brushed against the canvas still covered in wet paint, but unbothered and rather careless of it sticking to me.

"What I create is not art...it cannot even be considered as such. It's...simply rubbish which is disguised as something that could've been...extraordinary. Had someone else taken my place."


Today, I had not been able to create. Nothing came to mind, and nothing could be done. Nothing...

So I walked.

The entire time, I had wondered if I had been forgetting something. Despite me only leaving my house for a short amount of time, I felt as though something were missing.

Could it have been my phone? No, it's safe in my purse.

Could it have been my wallet? No, it's safe in my purse.

Could it have been my keys? No...

Everything I need, is safe in my purse.

But I...I am not where I need to be...am I?

No...there's no way I am...

I belong to the sea...and only the sea...


What is it, that makes me shiver?

What is it, that sends that freezing feeling crawling down my spine?

It's uncomfortable.

And I wonder whether or not it will go away if I go further, or if it will freeze me until all feeling is numb and my heart can no longer beat.

Do I wish for a flame to ignite in my breast, and that the feeling of discomfort and horror that flows in my veins?

Or do I need this feeling, to remind myself that I am still alive in a treacherous world of tears, where I can no longer wait until I am slapped by the hand of futility, and destroyed by corruptions of another world over yonder...

Because my dear father, how do you expect me to go on, when I can barely feel my own feet touching the grounds we used to run on?

First drafted: 7/23/2021

Uploaded time: 10/16/2021 | 21:50 | Saturday

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