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Description
Hope

There once was a man, middle aged with balding hair. He had laugh lines around his eyes and a warm smile. His house was small and cozy, only big enough to fill one person. You see this man lived alone, he never found true love for there was a monster that lived in him.  A monster that drove everyone he loved away, even the women he was to marry. This monster had many names, depression, anxiety but the names did not matter it was all the same. Each day the man woke up and did the same things over and over again.

This man had talent though, he was a painter. He painted from the soul and heart unless the monster within him took over. When the monster took over he was always unable to paint, instead he would destroy his artwork. This would fuel the monster more, the more upset and unstable the man got the stronger it became.

One day, there was a knock at the door. The man answered, never expecting company anymore. He was not sure what compelled him to answer the door, for you see. Today was the day he decided he had enough. He had given up, on art, on life, on everything. It was going to be the day that he was to die.

At the door there was a young girl, she was not quite an adult, but not quite a child. Her smile was cheery, her eyes showed signs of a monster as well. The man recognized the pain in the girl's eyes and for some reason beyond his own thinking knew he had to help. He asked her what she wanted, in the stern, cold voice he always spoke in, a voice that usually drove others away.

Yet the girl smiled and stayed, asking the man she was here about a book. It was then that the man clued in, he had recently set up an ad to sell one of his books. It was a book that he read when he was young, that filled him with joy but now he could not feel joy only sorrow. So he had no more use for that book.

Opening the door wider, he led the girl inside. Watching as she slipped off her shoes to sit at the dining table. It was odd to see someone so care free, at least in this day of age. As he shuffled around her, he told her to make herself at home and that he would be right back.

The girl sat there waiting for the man. Placing her school bag on the floor she looked around the room. The man was right, in this girl there was also a monster. Her arms are marked with the pain she felt, her eyes dark from the years of abuse, her smile fake as her artificial dreams. Fidgeting her fingers, and swinging her feet she got up to look at something that caught her eye. It sat on top of the piano that was near her. Never had her eyes seen something so beautiful, so magnificent.

The man returned to see that the girl was looking at his last painting. He placed the book down near her bag, knowing that he had no more use for it. Standing next to the girl, he forced a smile.

"Do you like it?" He asked his voice in a softer tone that surprised him.

"It's beautiful." She said still staring at the painting in awe. "Could I touch it?"

The man smiled and nodded, taking the canvas in hand and giving it to the girl. She held it gently in her hands, eyes drinking in every color that was painted. This time her smile was genuine, and for a moment the man saw something in her eyes that he had not to begin with. It was a spark of hope. There was still hope for this girl yet, before she became like him. Consumed by the inner demons that plagued his psyche day in and day out.

"Do you paint?"

The girl reluctantly looked over not wanting to not look at the painting. "Yes, I love art… someday I want to a great artist. Like you mister, to paint like you."

He smiled watching as she returned to look at his painting. This girl had potential he could sense it. It wasn't something that he could simply let rot away, he needed to help her somehow. He would give her the gift of hope, of inspiration. He was going to give her the strength that he never had, and the drive that he hoped would motivate her. The girl gasped in wonder, the painting her in hands seemed to come alive.

On the canvas, painted in vibrant shades of yellow were flowers. They were arranged in a white pot, each flower sticking out in its own direction like fireworks. If one would look closer, you could see that they were moving and shifting as if a sudden breeze touched them.

The painting pans out into a scene, no longer just flowers in a pot. The pot of flowers were now perched on a window sill, in a house painted a light brown. It zooms out further until you can see the other house; each had flower beds along their windows. From the left road in a woman, her eyes sharp as night. She wore pale blue dress with a dark blue sash around her waist. Her hair a dark chocolate, her face pale as the clouds, a hat to match her dress with flowers decorated around the rim. The bicycle she road as not of modern day made instead it was old and seemed to have a fantasy feel to her. She only road the bicycle with one hand though, in the other she held a pastel blue parasol to shield her from the sun.

The girl was taken aback that the painting moved but yet could not peel her eyes away. She watched as the parasol woman's lips moved, whispering secrets that she could not hear. Her dark eyes staring back into reality, back into the girl. It felt as though she wasn't just looking at her but as if the parasol lady was staring through her soul. She watched with intent as the bicycle transformed into a majestic stallion, and that the parasol lady was not alone anymore. Instead she had a male counterpart riding on the horse with her. They road along the streets, flowers trailing after them in shade of red, blue and yellow.

Something seemed wrong though, something not right. The painting began to distort, what once was a beautiful baroque painting twisted itself through the art periods. Through the renaissance stage to the contemporary. Then the painting began to look warped, the fine lines now only a sketch.  Lines jagged and streaky, chaotic and uncontrolled. The painting seemed to be melting away into something hideous.
The girl reeled back, unable to look away but scared to continue watching. The painting eventually twisted its image until it was just a blank canvas. Wide eyed the girl turned to look at the man, to ask him what happened. The sight she was greeted with made her gasp out of shock.

What once was a middle aged man was now wither and gray. His face sunken into his skull, his eyes saddened through years of chaotic emotions. His skin was pale, his stature bony and thin. As if he was going to fall apart any second.
Swallowing her fear the girl managed to stutter out a request. "How much for the painting?" She was not sure what compelled her to purchase the now blank canvas but something about it she could not resist.

"Fifty dollars." The man croaked his teeth yellowed with age the scent of medicine wafted from his breath.

"I don't have the much." The girl frowned, unsure of what to do.

"How much do you have on you?"

"$10.52."

"That will be enough." The man smiled a crooked grin, holding out his bony hand for
the money.

As the girl placed the money in the man's hand she felt something travel down her spine. A strange sensation that sent fear into her mind telling her to run.

"Thank you." She said trying to smile, "I should go now, farewell." Turning on her heels she quickly grabbed her bag forgetting all about the book.  Putting on her shoes she headed out the door way as fast as she could.

"No. Thank you." The man said closing his eyes and sighed out of relief. As though a burden was lifted off his shoulders.

The girl turned to look back, she still was not sure why she did but something told her to. She watched in a trance as the old man exhaled his last breath. It swirled into the air in colors that she could never imagine. His body buckled, and crumpled like paper as he collapsed. Flesh turning to ash as he became nothing more than dust.
A sound wailed out of the ash, the cries of a baby. Born from the ashes as a baby boy crying out for its mother.  From the hallway came the parasol lady, but she did not look like a person. Rather she looked like a painting her eyes still as sharp as night and her lips still whispering secrets. Bending down she picked up the baby boy in her arms and stopped to stare at the girl.

Her breath quickened, and the girl turned to continue running. Running as far as she could with the blank canvas held tightly in her arms. Something about that man, about that parasol lady, about that painting moved her. It made her rethink life itself, and she knew what she had to do.

When the girl got home she began to paint on the blank canvas with streaks of red, blue and yellow. Creating something beautiful, she had found her muse, her hope and her strength. She entitled the piece Hope.

Description
Hope

There once was a man, middle aged with balding hair. He had laugh lines around his eyes and a warm smile. His house was small and cozy, only big enough to fill one person. You see this man lived alone, he never found true love for there was a monster that lived in him.  A monster that drove everyone he loved away, even the women he was to marry. This monster had many names, depression, anxiety but the names did not matter it was all the same. Each day the man woke up and did the same things over and over again.

This man had talent though, he was a painter. He painted from the soul and heart unless the monster within him took over. When the monster took over he was always unable to paint, instead he would destroy his artwork. This would fuel the monster more, the more upset and unstable the man got the stronger it became.

One day, there was a knock at the door. The man answered, never expecting company anymore. He was not sure what compelled him to answer the door, for you see. Today was the day he decided he had enough. He had given up, on art, on life, on everything. It was going to be the day that he was to die.

At the door there was a young girl, she was not quite an adult, but not quite a child. Her smile was cheery, her eyes showed signs of a monster as well. The man recognized the pain in the girl's eyes and for some reason beyond his own thinking knew he had to help. He asked her what she wanted, in the stern, cold voice he always spoke in, a voice that usually drove others away.

Yet the girl smiled and stayed, asking the man she was here about a book. It was then that the man clued in, he had recently set up an ad to sell one of his books. It was a book that he read when he was young, that filled him with joy but now he could not feel joy only sorrow. So he had no more use for that book.

Opening the door wider, he led the girl inside. Watching as she slipped off her shoes to sit at the dining table. It was odd to see someone so care free, at least in this day of age. As he shuffled around her, he told her to make herself at home and that he would be right back.

The girl sat there waiting for the man. Placing her school bag on the floor she looked around the room. The man was right, in this girl there was also a monster. Her arms are marked with the pain she felt, her eyes dark from the years of abuse, her smile fake as her artificial dreams. Fidgeting her fingers, and swinging her feet she got up to look at something that caught her eye. It sat on top of the piano that was near her. Never had her eyes seen something so beautiful, so magnificent.

The man returned to see that the girl was looking at his last painting. He placed the book down near her bag, knowing that he had no more use for it. Standing next to the girl, he forced a smile.

"Do you like it?" He asked his voice in a softer tone that surprised him.

"It's beautiful." She said still staring at the painting in awe. "Could I touch it?"

The man smiled and nodded, taking the canvas in hand and giving it to the girl. She held it gently in her hands, eyes drinking in every color that was painted. This time her smile was genuine, and for a moment the man saw something in her eyes that he had not to begin with. It was a spark of hope. There was still hope for this girl yet, before she became like him. Consumed by the inner demons that plagued his psyche day in and day out.

"Do you paint?"

The girl reluctantly looked over not wanting to not look at the painting. "Yes, I love art… someday I want to a great artist. Like you mister, to paint like you."

He smiled watching as she returned to look at his painting. This girl had potential he could sense it. It wasn't something that he could simply let rot away, he needed to help her somehow. He would give her the gift of hope, of inspiration. He was going to give her the strength that he never had, and the drive that he hoped would motivate her. The girl gasped in wonder, the painting her in hands seemed to come alive.

On the canvas, painted in vibrant shades of yellow were flowers. They were arranged in a white pot, each flower sticking out in its own direction like fireworks. If one would look closer, you could see that they were moving and shifting as if a sudden breeze touched them.

The painting pans out into a scene, no longer just flowers in a pot. The pot of flowers were now perched on a window sill, in a house painted a light brown. It zooms out further until you can see the other house; each had flower beds along their windows. From the left road in a woman, her eyes sharp as night. She wore pale blue dress with a dark blue sash around her waist. Her hair a dark chocolate, her face pale as the clouds, a hat to match her dress with flowers decorated around the rim. The bicycle she road as not of modern day made instead it was old and seemed to have a fantasy feel to her. She only road the bicycle with one hand though, in the other she held a pastel blue parasol to shield her from the sun.

The girl was taken aback that the painting moved but yet could not peel her eyes away. She watched as the parasol woman's lips moved, whispering secrets that she could not hear. Her dark eyes staring back into reality, back into the girl. It felt as though she wasn't just looking at her but as if the parasol lady was staring through her soul. She watched with intent as the bicycle transformed into a majestic stallion, and that the parasol lady was not alone anymore. Instead she had a male counterpart riding on the horse with her. They road along the streets, flowers trailing after them in shade of red, blue and yellow.

Something seemed wrong though, something not right. The painting began to distort, what once was a beautiful baroque painting twisted itself through the art periods. Through the renaissance stage to the contemporary. Then the painting began to look warped, the fine lines now only a sketch.  Lines jagged and streaky, chaotic and uncontrolled. The painting seemed to be melting away into something hideous.
The girl reeled back, unable to look away but scared to continue watching. The painting eventually twisted its image until it was just a blank canvas. Wide eyed the girl turned to look at the man, to ask him what happened. The sight she was greeted with made her gasp out of shock.

What once was a middle aged man was now wither and gray. His face sunken into his skull, his eyes saddened through years of chaotic emotions. His skin was pale, his stature bony and thin. As if he was going to fall apart any second.
Swallowing her fear the girl managed to stutter out a request. "How much for the painting?" She was not sure what compelled her to purchase the now blank canvas but something about it she could not resist.

"Fifty dollars." The man croaked his teeth yellowed with age the scent of medicine wafted from his breath.

"I don't have the much." The girl frowned, unsure of what to do.

"How much do you have on you?"

"$10.52."

"That will be enough." The man smiled a crooked grin, holding out his bony hand for
the money.

As the girl placed the money in the man's hand she felt something travel down her spine. A strange sensation that sent fear into her mind telling her to run.

"Thank you." She said trying to smile, "I should go now, farewell." Turning on her heels she quickly grabbed her bag forgetting all about the book.  Putting on her shoes she headed out the door way as fast as she could.

"No. Thank you." The man said closing his eyes and sighed out of relief. As though a burden was lifted off his shoulders.

The girl turned to look back, she still was not sure why she did but something told her to. She watched in a trance as the old man exhaled his last breath. It swirled into the air in colors that she could never imagine. His body buckled, and crumpled like paper as he collapsed. Flesh turning to ash as he became nothing more than dust.
A sound wailed out of the ash, the cries of a baby. Born from the ashes as a baby boy crying out for its mother.  From the hallway came the parasol lady, but she did not look like a person. Rather she looked like a painting her eyes still as sharp as night and her lips still whispering secrets. Bending down she picked up the baby boy in her arms and stopped to stare at the girl.

Her breath quickened, and the girl turned to continue running. Running as far as she could with the blank canvas held tightly in her arms. Something about that man, about that parasol lady, about that painting moved her. It made her rethink life itself, and she knew what she had to do.

When the girl got home she began to paint on the blank canvas with streaks of red, blue and yellow. Creating something beautiful, she had found her muse, her hope and her strength. She entitled the piece Hope.