My "friend" Paul

Louis Dali, a stubble beard man, passed by beautiful, portrait paintings with his head down and his eyes fixed on his scribbled cartoon drawings. Andy Hanson, a gallery employee, who wore a suit and glasses, spotted Louis and exhaled.

Andy received the cartoon art, which had coffee stains on every paper, but as he flipped through, there was a doodle of Louis scowling and stomping on the ground.

Louis said, "So, what do you think?"

Andy said, "I shall not buy these. They lack passion, and they're rushed as if you did it this morning."

Andy returned the drawings, and Louis frowned.

Louis said, "You blind? Passion leaks through my art. Didn't you see the sharp edges? The cartoon's faces?

Andy said, "I saw only a man trying to make a quick buck."

Andy lifted a framed drawing, and the imaged showed a long-haired stick figure with a sad face. In the artwork, the stick figure drew on a paper that was on an easel and strings were attached to its limbs. Above it was cartoon gloves that held a wooden crossbar with strings attached to it.

As Andy pointed at the long-haired stick figured, he said, "A shame he's gone. I'd say if you put effort like Paul, you'd succeed like him."

Louis glared at the drawing and stomped out of the gallery.

It was late at night in Louis' den. The wallpaper in the house drooped from the cracked walls and cardboard covered a broken window. Louis sat next to a table by an old, torn couch while murmuring and aggressively drawing cartoon images of himself burning, tearing, and ripping Paul's artwork.

Many crushed papers fell from his table onto the worn down floor, and he shouted and grabbed the paper balls, slinging many of them into the wall. A ball slammed into a framed photograph, and it smashed into the floor. Louis breathed hard and stepped toward the broken glass, which showed a cabin in the woods.

Louis remembered when he was in Paul's kitchen, sitting on a stool by a marble counter and tapping his fingers while holding the photo of the cabin. In Paul's house, he hung some of his stick figure art on the wall.

Paul, a long-haired man with a winter coat, spoke to Louis, who wasn't attentive because of a new drawing resting on the surface. It was an image of four smiling stick figures on a tropical beach, and two wore sunglasses while the others drunk on a boat.

Louis said, "Why don't you go back? Your masterpieces remain at the cabin. Wouldn't you want to show them off?"

Paul said, "Hey man, did you check out the new Jaguar car I bought?"

Louis' fingers tapped faster on the counter. "I'm asking you about the cabin."

"What? Oh, that. Don't worry about it, man. Now, I was thinking of taking my new car on a trip. Maybe--"

Louis slammed his hand on the counter. "I don't care about your plans. You're avoiding this place. Why?"

Paul paused. Then he gulped. His fingers moved his long hair, and he said, "Hey, man, those woods are strange. It's ... too hard to navigate." Paul shivered as he held himself tight. "Man, I could get lost again or even hunted ... by wolves."

Louis scowled at him. Paul looked down as his hands trembled while he gripped his coat.

Louis said, "Do you take me for a fool? They're no wolves there. That's as absurd as your stick figure art." Louis stood up, and his stool tipped over. "I'm tired of hearing about your stupid art and life. They don't talk about me. Only you." Louis kicked the stool. "You have everything while I live in a home with rats as my roommates." Louis huffed and puffed.

Paul said, "I'm sorry I've made you feel this way, man. But it's not as great as I've made it sound."

Louis grabbed Paul's drawing of the happy stick figures on the tropical beach. "Not as great? Could've fooled me. This is how I feel about your life."

Louis pulled a pencil from his pocket, and he scribbled and erased parts of the artwork. Paul shrieked, and Louis ripped the paper in half causing it to float to the floor.

Paul said, "What have you done to them, man?"

Louis stomped out of the kitchen, and Paul knelt near his torn drawings of sad stick figures while his tears dropped on the paper. That was the last time Louis saw Paul.

###

In the day time, Louis walked in the woods and stepped deeper onto a trail, but his shoes crunched on something on the ground. They were used up markers. There were also trees with paper stapled to the bark and the papers had cartoon eyes. Louis said, "He's dead, yet his presence still aggravates me."

He walked past the trees, and the pupils of the cartoon eyes changed to Louis' direction. A cell phone and clothing laid in the dirt, and Louis lifted the low battery phone. The text message read: Something's following and trying to blend in with our group.

As the phone shut down, Louis rolled his eyes and walked past the clothing. Behind Louis, something stood, and its cartoon glove touched the bark of a tree.