The bright lights of the town sprung to life as soon as the sun set in King’s Village. Its golden rays disappeared, and the small twinkling fairies illuminated the trees into their branches, which lit up the main street. It was as this time, that King’s Village was at its peak.

            The village was built during the height of World War II. During this time, the small town near the ocean was perfect for trading in the late 1940s. Since then, the village stayed remotely the same. New businesses have opened and small canals have been erected. Now, King’s Village has become a very popular tourist attraction. Along Main Street, many fashion boutiques and parlours lined the sand filled concrete, hoping for a visitor to walk through their doors. Across the road, the beaches of golden sand and clear blue waters waited for swimmers. Yet the magic was not found in the expensive shops, yet found in the open, buskers. They were seen everywhere in King’s Village. Dancers, musicians, mimes, they all performed along Main Street. However, at the very end of the road, sat the only artist in the Village. His name was Kim Jongdae or Chen as he preferred.

            Chen had grown up in King’s Village. He, as the locals say, was ‘pure King.’ He lived in a small flat just on the outskirts of town, one that his parents built for him before their move to South America three years ago. Chen could have gone with them, yet he knew that King’s Village was his true belonging.

            In town, there isn’t much to do when it comes to work. It’s either found inside the tourist shops and hotels or in the manufacturing business. Chen had known from a young age that neither of these was meant for him. He was different. By that, he didn’t want to do what the other kids his age did. That was until he had found the one thing to take his interest. At ten years old, whilst strolling into one of the older shops in the square, he stumbles upon and old book in one of the wooden shelving. It turned out to be an old sketch book filled with realistic pictures of what his home looked like during the time of the second war. This is what made Chen become an artist. The way an ordinary person can recreate a real thing on to paper with nothing but a pencil fascinated him. It took his breath away.

            For years, Chen perfected his craft, copying what was in the book. First, it was mere paper and pencil, then paint brush to canvas. Later, into his early 20s, light posts and building fronts that lined the pathways were covered with Chen’s masterpieces.

            It wasn’t before long that Chen had ran out of Canvas space. That was when he decided to sell his paintings to the ongoing crowds of tourists that line the shores of King’s Village. Every night he could be seen at the end of the road, painting away.

~~

            ____ had only recently moved to King’s Village, wanting to escape the bustling city life. Settling down in a small beach side town would’ve been a good change. ____’s parents actually helped with her decision. Being a photographer, the city would’ve been the ideal place for ____. However, after living and seeing the same scene for so long, a change of scenery is what ____ needed.

            Her home was right next to the beach, a small villa perfect for two. A small, yet sustainable kitchen, living space and two bedrooms, one which ____ uses now as a photography studio. Outside, the white sand moulded into the turquoise blue ocean.

            It was a beautiful, sunny day. The streets were once again lined with tourists from all over the world, either wanting to hit the shopping sprees or soak up the sun and sea. ____ however, did not plan to do wither of those. Camera in hand, she sought to find the mastermind behind King’s vibrant artworks, which immediately caught ____’s eye the day she arrived. For days she had been following the paintings, like a blood hound in search for a scent. This person’s art was everywhere; the town was covered roof to concrete. It made everything seen more joyful. It was because of that, ____ wanted to know the genius who made that happen.

            As ____ strode through the narrow streets, the day slowly started to turn dark. When the sun set, the place came alive. It became a completely different town. Sounds became louder, smells more fragrant. Holding her camera to her chest, ____ sighed to herself. As she started to take photos, history was being immortalised into images. Each with their own story to tell. Musicians playing underneath glittering fairy lights, newlywed couples drinking coffee beneath yellow umbrellas, wild birds eating bread crumbs begin fed by an elderly gentleman discussing about the ‘good old days.’ It was all happening in the blink of an eye, which time cannot stop for the moments.

            ____ was deep in thought as she glanced over her camera, flicking through the photos she took during the early evening. Whilst doing this, she walked slowly towards the end of the street, barely missing people heading in the opposite direction. Her mind was filled with the ongoing thoughts of each photograph; giving them a title of what she thought represented them. A photo of a young child crouching over a small ant hill; curiosity. Another of a young male conversing with his back towards the camera whilst conversing with a female, whilst holding a single rose; anxiousness. These photos told a story.

            Her thoughts were broken from a child laughing next to her, which caused ____ to jump back into reality.

            “Hm,” she said to herself. “Almost at the end of the street.” It was somewhat quieter nearing the end. ____ wanted to turn back around, yet more laughing from the end road made her to continue forward. At the very end of the street, stood a small hut covered with a white sheet, a small family in front. Paint cans and an all sort of brushes lay beside it. The child who ____ heard laughing earlier was holding a white envelope to her chest, the size of a medium sized picture frame, a wide smile plastered on her small face. Her parents talking to someone who was hidden in the manmade tent. As her parents made their goodbyes to the mystery person, it was only the two of them left, and____’ vision of the person was made clear.

            It was a young male, ____ speculated to be in his early 20s. He had a structured jaw line and tousled jet black hair, which stood out against his pale skin. His white t-shirt and blue ripped jeans were stained with paint of all colours. This boy surely was attractive, but what caught ____’s eye was the expression he gave as he began his new drawing. Hoping he wouldn’t notice her, ____ quickly took a hold of her camera, zoomed in, and snapped a picture before she swiftly her heels and headed for the opposite end of the street. At a safe distance, she looked at the picture she last took moments ago, already thinking of a title. A young male painting away with his mind and pencil like his life depended on it; passion.

~~

            “Mummy, Daddy look it’s a horsey!” Chen, almost dropping his brush, looked up from his latest painting to see a small girl running towards him.

            “It’s a horsey! It’s so pretty!” Chen smiled at her reaction. It was one of the reasons her enjoyed painting on the streets, to see happiness first hand.

            “You like horses?” Chen asked as he set down the canvas that sat on his lap and leaned closer towards the girl.

            “Yeah, I love them so much!” Chen’s smiled widened as the girl in front of jumped up and down. He turned his head upwards to see her parents walking towards him.

            “What do you like sweetheart?” The male asked.

            “This one Daddy,” she pointed to the painting of a white horse bent, eating the grass of a flower filled paddock with a clear blue sky in the background.

            “She told me she likes horses.” Chen said to the father.

            “She can’t get enough of them,” the female said.

            The three of them conversed for a while, which resulted the family buying the painting, the girl holding the white package towards her chest.

            “May I ask,” the father said. “What are you working on now?”

            Chen turned his attention back to man and shrugged his shoulders, “I don’t know yet. I’m waiting for some inspiration.” With that they said goodbyes and the happy family left Chen back to his work.

            As he sat back down in his chair, he started to draw scribbles in a book for some inspiration. Chen looked up to see at a girl, around early 20’s he assumed, aiming a large camera in his direction and then quickly heading in the other direction. Chen leaned over to see where she went, only to see the back her scurry behind a corner. Chen smiled, “inspiration,” he said to himself and began drawing. This is what he loved. This was something he lived for. With art, he was passionate.

Authors Note:

First chapter posted! Thanks to those who followed me right when I posted it yesterday, it means a lot! Next and final chapter coming soon ^^