There was not a nobler ending he could think of than one created by himself, but he could not do it. He would have to wait, to sleep, to dream, or even perhaps to live. He hid his loneliness behind a cloak of false pretenses that no one could break through. The end of this could not come soon enough, what he desperately needed was a beginning. They had plotted and conspired his demise but he would not go, even though he wanted to – something or someone had attached itself to him and he was no longer in control.
Once again I should have died.
Maybe it’s because you can’t kill heroes.
Maybe it’s because only the good dye young.
Somehow I survived and I am alive.
Don’t be so excited about it -sarcasm-
His life was now routine, day after day, night after night; to the exact second. He spent hours in his small studio painting away at the blank white canvas and like clock work every 5 minutes he sang a little bar “I paint with the colors you’ll never see.” From time to time people would come, to watch and observe this genius at work – they’d often question where is the painting to which he replied, “I paint with the colors you’ll never see.” They all began to wonder if he had gone mad, for they saw nothing; nothing at all. He would not be distracted or taken from his work, the rest of the world took a back seat ride in his drive into madness. Gently he made his final stroke, again saying “I paint with the colors you’ll never see.” and then a brief pause, “for these are the colors of my life, no one will ever see them again.” He pulled out a gun and shot himself in the head. There he was lying dead on the floor next to his masterpiece, the white canvas.
He knew that things could never be the same again, for better or worse he would go about things as he always had – all or none. This time it was all. He would leave a void so big in his stead that it would hurt just to think about it. The collective of all his pains in one massive force that would cripple anyone instantly but somehow he survived though it slowly devastated him. The once happy and proud young man was reduced to a fraction of what he was all because of her, though he had been hiding it all along he refused to hide anymore. The true desires of his heart burst out for the entire world to know shattering his sense of security and tearing off the bandages covering his bleeding wounds for the world to put salt in. This would be his greatest deed ever, and also the one that would ultimately be the precursor of his demise.
