4: To Sow

A headache began to brew in the depths of his mind and he found himself questioning why he had voluntarily put himself through this. Donghae sat cross-legged with a piece of charcoal in his one hand and the other hand clutching firmly to the canvas balanced atop pointed knees. His plan was to compose a series of portraits painted in the mixed styles of the classics and impressionists. A hint of both would be found in the smooth verses juxtaposed elements he planned on featuring into each work and the acidity of colour he planned on including would resemble something more German expressionistic. He too had his own style of course, down and across, down and across, hatching was his thing. The of his brush only knew those directions. In all of his years of painting, Donghae had never needed any other lines or but those which were vertical and horizontal. To create dimension within two flat lines, that was his specialty and so as Donghae sat with legs crossed and canvas before him he asked himself what he was doing.

Smeared lines of black stared at him expectantly as he tried not to look too much at the monstrosity he had begun to create. Nothing seemed to going according to plan. The media he had set himself on using was far further from his sight than he had hoped to find it and the style staring strongly through stained canvas and right at him seemed to mock his prior plan preparations. 

His hands seemed to have come to life in a different form to what he had expected when he'd began for the day. His advertisements had yet to be responded to and his spirits seemed far too dampened by his failure to understand his own mind. 

He had tried to forget what his brain kept screaming to him; kept it mute and chained behind frenzied thoughts of preposterous ideas. Three days had passed with him fighting hard against himself not to look at the beginnings of where his mind was looking to take him. That first drawing, of that man with his back turned, was undoubtedly the best image that his hands had managed to translate into canvas since his quest to finding a subject matter had begun.

Donghae had drifted from the streets- where he'd places advert after advert on bricked and plastered wall- and back into his studio only to find brush in hand and colour on brush. He had begun to apply midnight to sunshine, vertically and horizontally, until he halted in his third to realise where his hands were taking him.

He wouldn't accept what they proposed, he just simply refused, and as show of his refusal he'd hurled canvas across the room and headed back out for some well needed fresh air.

That night, three days passed, Donghae awoke from troubled sleep to the shadow that tailed him by daylight and haunted him at night fall. It shivered before his mind's eyes before he managed to blink it away with the grogginess that fogged his memory of dreamland.

#Entry 413

Even when I try not to think of him I fail. My mind has a mind of its own and it seems to have infected my hands with its sickened state. Perhaps I should just give in to what they translate onto canvas. Perhaps...

It was two days later that Donghae found himself at the small cafe right across from his apartment block, enjoying a freshly brewed cup of strongly scented vanilla coffee and a slice of crisply buttered toast. As was his usual morning routine Donghae would wash up and head right down to the café he'd grown too fond of in the past year or so, place his sketch book on rounded pine, and turn his head slightly to say: "Aunt!" only to find his order on the table just seconds later.

"The usual it is" the lady would utter, smile always sincere on her fresh face, before turning away with a slight shake of the head and an almost inaudible chuckle at having to go through the same thing every day. Donghae watched her that morning as he had done for the past months and it was just as he was turning his attention to his toast and vanilla coffee that the glimpse of a shadow caught his attention. Something in his head spoke to him to look at the shadow just that one time but Donghae pushed the thought away and took a bite from his toast.

Ting! Ting! Ting!

The sound of a new customer entering the shop reached his ears yet he didn't look up. A silence passed before the voice of the lady that had served him earlier erupted in a shriek of delight and words stormed out of her chaotically. Donghae opened his sketch book and tried not to listen.

"Where have you been?!:Oh my, I can't believe my eyes!" it was difficult not to hear that overjoyed voice echo across the café. She was making so much noise but Donghae tried his best to block it out. Déjà vu seemed chase him as the scene remarkably resembled that from his dream nights before but no matter what he wouldn't acknowledge it as his reality.

Another sip and some scribbling found him distracted for a while. He had yet to find a model for his collection and was beginning to worry whether he'd be able to complete it at all at such a rate. Another sip found him pondering his next step but his line of thought was led astray by the buzzing that caused vibrations to course through his table. He stared at the ringing device for a few seconds which easily led to more than a few seconds which found the incoming call terminated. Perhaps answering it would have served him better but after he'd gone and scribbled in his journal in the depths of the early morning he'd changed his mind immediately. Giving in was his last intention.

Brrrrrrrrrrr!

It began again, incessantly so.

  "No answer" he heard from behind but the buzzing never ceased. "Hey wait... Excuse me!"

But it seemed he couldn't run away from his dreams. He tried to prepare himself for what was now inevitable but the reality of it seemed too paralyzing to flee.

"Is this your advert? I swear I heard your phone ri- Hey, is that... my glove?"

And just like that the shadow was brought to the light. In all its glory it stood before him questioningly. However threatening it seemed as it loomed over him, he found it quit exquisite in its slimness, shoulders quite drawn in comparison to his first encounter with it. It had a solid form now, the form of a man, and Donghae wanted nothing more than to flee from the feeling of impending doom that overtook him at that moment; the moment of first contact, but just as moths to a flame he was drawn in and had no doubt that he'd feel the burn of the scorching fire when time came for dream to mould itself into the light of day. It made not a single ounce of difference though; he'd changed his mind again, giving in seemed far too too appealing to let go at that very moment

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