My brother is an artist.
Behind all those sweat paid muscles he has on his body.
He works as a policeman in the city.
He is a two faced recluse.
Accommodating to the people and tough to the guilty and suspects.
Yet in his family, no matter how true or genuine side he allows us to see, it was not something we could smile and be proud about.
He puts up a face that he's fine. But he is actually suffering from depression. A ghost haunting him everywhere he goes, but he's brave and kind enough to not worry his co-workers. A ghost of which drags him and his life onto despair and hopelessness right in front of our eyes, yet he doesn't let us help him. He doesn't want to. Even if we want to, we can't do anything.
The adults don't know when it started. But I did. I was watching him. I always do. Just as how a fan watches her idol in front of the stage. In awe. In my case, in horror.
He was 26, at that time there was this secret large organization being dug by almost every enthusiast and mystery maniacs after series of too-good-to-be-true coincidences. The media made it look and sound like it was just some fleeting trend. I was sure it was only made so because of the confidentiality of the situation the government didn't want the public to know. I know this because of how he had become so tense and troubled every time he comes home. It isn't everyday, but every time he does, it's like he was bringing along with him a heavy load of problems instead of a lighter one as the investigation goes on.
First was that he had started to stay up late more and more, sometimes he won't sleep at all. There were days piles of documents would litter around his room, some too clean and other days I would just see him sitting on his bed, staring into space. His eyes empty and devoid of emotion. It was as if though he had just witnessed or knew something so terrible it made him helpless, feel so bad about himself that he had taken a year off work.
It went on for months before my parents noticed the real problem. I, alone, remained in my corner of life. Watching in silent sadness. Why?
We were never that close to begin with, at least in the eyes of my brother. That's because he almost never allows himself to depend on others. A large factor that made me invisible in his eyes.
When I turned 17, he started painting again. We exchanged a few words, and as expected he really doesn't see me as a sibling but more of like another piece in his life which he has no other choice but to deal with. I saw something. In his eyes. I saw that hopeful flash of life. Genuine light that passed through his eyes as he looked at me and greeted me a happy birthday. He has found the tiniest purpose for starting again. I wasn't sure which inspired him to do so but I was ecstatic about it. Quietly supporting him in the shadows that he has cast upon me.
He was really secretive about the whole process. I tried pulling the reigns of my curiosity, just as how I was trying to convince our mother to let things be for a while, but it managed to take over.
I was the only person who knew where he does the painting. It was in the attic. He had discovered a small door on his ceiling leading up to a room when we were younger. A room within the attic but only accessible through that panel. The place where he made me climb and helped him burn all the plastic flowers and melted chocolates his crush had rejected during valentine's day. We were 7 and 18.
I climbed up and pushed the small panel upwards then slid it sideways. The smell of linseed oil and acrylic immediately filled my nostrils and made my eyes watery. I popped my head inside and saw a large canvas lying on a stand covered with a black velvet cloth smudged with paint. And at it's side a used palette.
This is it. I told myself looking at the silhouette of the canvas. This must be the painting. I didn't want to intrude on his privacy so I just stared at the palette and the abstract swirls of colours in it.706Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5h0U1Q7XLK
706Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡem1ImQyfeC
The tiny trapezoidal window near by my head gave the space a generous ray of light. Almost making it look like an exclusive spotlight focusing on the canvas. I didn't notice the rat beside my feet until my foot stomped on its tail. It felt like my heart moved up to my throat as it actioned to bite my shoe. Out of reflex my other foot scored a goal as it kicked the rat and made it flying away from me. I remember the fleshy thump before the soft sound of thwack as it flew away. It's body got caught in the cloth underneath the stand. Taking it along. The cover was suddenly pulled down I didn't know what was happening. My eyes were wide open as the image of the painting was slowly showcased right in front of me.
Dark hair. Dark background. Vibrant shade of red. A woman. Those were the things that stuck on my mind before I heard or rather sensed the heavy pad of his feet entering the house and my mother's high pitched voice as she says the words 'You're back. Did you get what I told you?' Adrenaline rushed in my veins as I ran for the cover and placed it back on it's previous position as much as I could. Not minding the scramming little pest. I really felt like there were still things lacking to really make it look like there was no one here, knowing that he was detail conscious, I went for the window and grabbed the branches of the tree nearby and intertwined the tiny lock of the window in it, there were times it would caught it up slamming the window close sucking the air out of the room or pushing it in. I heard the kitchen's door being opened and I immediately slid out of the tiny door. Closed the panel after checking out which side it was previously on and silently sneaked out of his room by his window and into a floor down below, specifically went for the living room. I didn't went inside the room directly below his window.
It might probably be the guilt that made me decide to go on long summer camps and change schools where I stayed in a dorm. I grabbed every opportunity to get away from there as much as I could. They didn't mind though and just supported me all throughout, glad that there was still one child functioning normally.
True enough, the time I had spent away from him made me forget the mistake I had done. It was during my graduation in high school that we had been together in one room for the longest time since I left. All members were sitting around the table eating the dinner our parents had made. All was well until mother mentioned the word I wasn't comfortable hearing about.
'Aaron, dear. Don't you have something to give to your brother?' she said with a smile on her face. Father was beaming at us too.706Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2An4TuHd3P
706Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡlSYDNKZlPI
'Your brother has made a gift just for you, dear. He has been working on it since you left.'706Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡBV9LTi5B0Q
706Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEFp9cyFRNO
Just hearing the word 'made' made my stomach churn.706Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGsY5g0iqTl
706Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡeeGFIPgGzE
'Really?' I said. My voice sounding so foreign.706Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡpRnLnAOeey
706Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDaJgCwZtnS
'Yes, he has painted tons of things. Including me and your father. How about its time to let us see it for ourselves, Aaron?'706Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡCsrmS4YyIB
706Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡMnoFzlEIlU
He nodded in response and stood up. He lead us back into his room. Just walking behind his broad back brings back so much memories both good and bad. Mostly bad after watching all those confidence and assurance of living wash away and come back in time's tide.706Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxfPFvDod9V
706Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡsl3wOLKUTr
As I entered his room, so much has changed. His medals in the police force and certificates were long gone. The wall that hung them changed them with tons of sketches of landscapes, buildings, roads, all of which looks more of like a memory implanted on paper to be documented. There was one window whose sill was covered with small colourful looking cacti. He wasn't fond of plants. And his study table where he used to study nonstop for his exams before was placed beside a window. He didn't want that before, because he didn't like any distractions!706Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡlc6RYKYq5f
706Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡa3VWzI0VpG
The horror I felt before became devastation.706Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡsPw49fBAm3
706Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfmjYr0BDsx
There were 2 canvasses placed in between the bookshelf and cabinet. One larger than the other. He grabbed both of them and showed it to us.
My eyes went wide with the beauty of the image. Well torn out from mind to colour to canvas. There was one person in the smaller one and two in the larger canvas. Like before, he used a dark background and vibrant colours to highlight the image being focused. 706Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡIlPkQ9Fwrq
706Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ1aeZDp1SI4
The first painting was framing an ocean. The skies were dark and heavy with a storm coming through. But a tiny ray of light at the further parts of the ocean was what that person was looking at. Glittering reflections on the water call out for someone to come nearby. Taste the temporary joy of being under the sun before the storm eats them alive with it's sister, the ocean, swallowing it's dead body.
The other painting was framing a large old ballroom. There were turned over chairs scattered across the empty space. The walls were dulled by time. Taking its old design as a prisoner within its grasp. Two people looked to be dancing within the ruins of the place. Wearing white clothes glowing within the dark room. They were both on their bare feet. Almost floating.
The more I looked at it the more my mouth fell to the floor.
'Oh my God.'
I felt my father's hand squeezing my shoulder. I couldn't bare look at him. I'm sure he was feeling the same thing as me.
'That's you, Albert.' He said referring to the first painting.
'And that's both of you.' He said talking about the second.
It was a trap. I knew it. When he drew that painting for me.
He knows.
He fucking knows.
Looking at everything, I felt like something was forcibly torn inside my chest. My lungs squeezing shut. My breathing getting short and faster. My hands clenched and unclenched beside me. My feet feeling cold all over.706Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡdN4FsT4pus
706Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEndeLOD2cQ
After, a blanket of numbness covered them for me.706Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPq59Keppwc
706Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡdCgHnENNOX
I felt my father's hand squeezing my shoulder again.
Dread and loss.
Because after all,
All those subjects that he has claimed to be us was only one person.
Just one person.
The same woman who he has painted years before stood in our places in his paintings. Embodying his family as herself.
Aaron sees nothing but her.
My mother cried in appreciation and went to him to give him a kiss.706Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡByEXZ6q5zC
706Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡF3JJxbAic4
'That's beautiful. Thank you.'706Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡuwZ8cfLws3
706Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTVFPAp71gb
I watched as he smiled at her.
Smiled.
Like a fucking puppy.706Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡgbeiDO4W3d
706Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡiPv5vc3tFk
Innocent, devoid of any mature persona,706Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwewDw5E3Bj
706Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡdA1jS6zGUQ
Nothing the same from the older brother who used to pat my head whenever I got home from school, the one who looks after me when I had a fever or asthma attack, the one who secretly brings me burgers when mother was dealing with her vegetarian phase.
Nothing.
Who was this person?706Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8dqQ1moN8O
Father couldn't take it any longer and walked out of the room. Leaving me behind along with my overjoyed mother and a stranger.706Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEq7UJUsQHA
706Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ1as1YE1nQz
706Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8pJgzJpTdm
706Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfmBJzAUHyU
706Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhvo5aAxxD6
