Creative Creative Writing

A Man Named Van

I have always been a bit different than other people. My emotions seem to take full control over me sometimes. I am young but I feel much older. I don’t have the same gleam of excitement that I can see in the eyes of my peers. Sometimes I’m disappointed in myself when I think about how isolated I have become. I usually just turn to my studio.

Sometimes it’s nice to leave my emotions behind but it’s impossible to ignore them indefinitely. The moment my brush gracefully glides across my canvas, I am content. Then that moment passes and I am left with an empty, raw resentment. I often see the way people stare at me or whisper as I pass by, but as long as I hide my true self, they always forget. The last thing I want is for people to ask me questions about the way I feel. With my constantly wavering emotions, I don’t even really know how I feel. Why should I have to tell others about it?

I am trapped in an emotional spiral of doom—if that is the proper way to describe it. All I want is to feel happy, even if it is just for a little while. Happiness is the cure for any man’s average dilemma, so I am guessing it would not be strong enough to solve mine. However, there is always the possibility that it will work. How does one come across happiness? I see it wherever I go but can never get a glimpse of it. The happiest thing in my life that I can think of is yellow paint. It somehow makes me feel a little better—temporarily of course.

I wonder . . . if I just . . . I don’t know. It’s probably not a great idea, but it is very intriguing. Something is telling me not to do it, but I seem to be left with no other options. It would be so easy. One little spoonful of yellow and all my horrible, rotten feelings would go away just like that. I am positive that just eating it will make me feel so much happier. I have reached the end of my patience. There is no way I can go on unless this works. What to do . . . what to do . . . it just sits there, looking just like all the happy, laughing faces that pass by me every day. I am constantly rejected and thrown away and yet I put up with it.

Would yellow paint put up with this kind of thing? I don’t think so.

If beautiful, bright, vibrant yellow will not put up with this sort of treachery, why should I?

I will not! No longer will I let the cruel world take a hold of my heart so violently. Now is my time! This is my moment. It could be the start of a new life, and a new me. I’m going for it. I feel a rush of excitement as I pour some yellow paint into a deep spoon.

Will it really work? Who knows?

I will never know if I don’t try.

It looks like liquid gold sitting still inside the spoon.

I quickly make up my mind and shove the golden happiness into my mouth and it feels odd. I don’t care. As I said, I have been left with no other options. It seems to be working. The yellow paint is making me happier. I can feel it! This is it, this is the moment when my sadness will go away forever. I have done it! The paint slowly coats my throat and it drips into the cavern of my stomach.

My golden elixir doesn’t seem quite as magical anymore. I feel the paint rising back up into my mouth as I gag. My teeth are glazed with a light yellow shine. I cannot tell if my plan is working. Am I happy yet?

 

 

Artwork By Vincent Van Gough

Grace Wakeling, a sophomore, is on cross country and track. She loves to eat ice cream and read books. Grace discovered her love for writing when she was in 6th grade and her school had a creative writing competition. Her favorite book is The Fault in Our Stars by John Green.

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