An Insane Painter

To say she'll support him financially is an easy thing. But to actually do it, she at first needs money.

Anoi spent the rest of the day stalking young students, and like a creep, stared at them from the red bench.

She spotted quite a number of talented people. But she couldn't recognize many of them. It was well known, that when on stage, the performers doll up; in the normal crowd, they don't dress too extravagantly.

Adding the fact that most were yet to be hit by puberty, their beauty wasn't showing.

So no wonder she had trouble finding the future idols. All she could do was look at who was the most talented.

After a while, she gave up and took a tram to her house.

It was a relief to return and wash up.

Anoi looked at the mirror at scrutinized her figure.

She was dead tired, but her determination to invest in herself was strong. She changed into some sorts clothes that her closet had and began working out.

"Abs. Think about abs." she thought while doing crunches. "Who cares about donuts…I don't…"

That was a lie. Anoi loved sweets. In her past, she didn't have much hobbies, and in herfree time was all by herself. After losing her people one by one, it seemed to her there no need to carry on making any connections, unless her work required it. Some friends passed away, others left he. She had only one romantic relationship and after it failed, a thought started bugging her. Was there any point in putting your happiness in another person? She's better off when there's no one else by her side.

Like everyone around, she masked the inner self. And at some point, her mask grew into her, covering the face, covering the identity.

Amongst the few things that she still enjoyed were sweets and clothes.

She liked the sugar taste, because only this could cover the saltiness of tears. And only by trying on different dresses each day she could experience the feeling of change.

Having lots of clothes didn't really pose a problem.

Candies, however, made her gain weight. Being chubby made her depressed, and she developed a habit of stress-eating. Soon, after chubby turned into fat, she stopped minding it. What's the difference? Why should it be changed? Just cause she doesn't fit in her old clothes, doesn't mean she has to go exercise. She only has to buy, or make, new bigger, clothes.

…..

Anoi couldn't help but feel pathetic when remembering her older self.

To exchange her talent, her skills, her health, for a bunch of food.

In her past, she sometimes wondered that if she was thinner, He wouldn't leave her.

Now, Anoi wondered if her body was in shape, fitter and stronger, would the kidnaping still occur? Trained body meant a chance of escaping.

…..

The sweat wasn't irritating. The pain in muscles wasn't irksome. It was pleasing and it was liberating. Anoi felt alive.

She took a shower. After finishing, she started looking through the room. More precisely, she checked the old sketches that were on her table.

She felt quite nostalgic and let out a light chuckle. Those were once what she considered her top works. Now, even the best drawing looked inferior to what she was able to create now.

But, although the technique was lacking, the ideas were still good. She could already imaging sewing this butterfly dress. The ball gown was a piece of cake, the sun dress could be fixed in a few hours…

Her gaze jumped from one page to another, her mind immediately correcting and adjusting the designs…

With a frantic arm swing, she shoved the sketches from the table and sat on the chair. The pages fluttered and with leaf-like whisperings, settled onto the ground. Anoi pulled out a pack of white paper and started drawing. Her fingers trembled from excitement. She hadn't felt like this in ages.

The palm leads the pencil in swift movements, betraying the experience of the artist. One by one, the lines intertwined into graceful garments. The colors are splashing onto the page, mercilessly blending one with another, covering the delicate pencil marks, forming a masterpiece.

New page, then another; like feathers in a bird's gentle wing, they were placed in layers. One by one, they rested on top of another.

Anoi was smiling. The time stopped, and at the same time, it flowed.

This is her music. This is her passion.