The Van Gogh Project

SCENE II.

SCENE II. A MONTAGE OF PENT UP FRUSTRATION

VINCENT MILSON

BENEATH the rosy sky, Vincent Milson stood once again looking at an empty canvas, he had gone to school and barely stayed awake throughout his classes.

His friends had told him he looked sickly, and he noticed it too when he stood in front of a mirror and looked at his pale discolored skin, his tired eyes, and his protruding cheekbones. It looked as if he hadn't eaten in months. Which wasn't exactly a lie.

Vincent had been feeling too anxious to eat throughout the day, only sticking to one meal to calm the aches of his empty stomach. It wasn't intentional, he just didn't feel hungry at all.

The sun was setting and he walked over to his balcony to look at the different hues of pink and oranges that filled the sky fading as purple tints sneaked behind the warm red tones. He looked at his right, the girl who had complaint about the noise that morning was sitting over a white wooden chair with millennial pink cushions. She was reading a book silently, amongst the arrays of plants she decorated her balcony with.

Vincent knew it was French inspired decor, and he had to give props to her for doing a good job putting the set together. The only thing Vincent had in his balcony was a white plastic chair, a wooden table, and a plant on the verge of dying resting on the ledge of the balcony. He couldn't remember how often he had to water it, but he hadn't done it in a couple of weeks. He didn't even know what type of plant it was.

He sat down, exhausted from the days activities and lit a cigarette to ease his nerves. His leg was tapping against the floor and a cloud of smoke surrounded him as he puffed it out.

"You know that will kill you one day." He snapped his head to the side, noticing the nameless girl looking directly at him.

She contrasted what she looked like this morning, her hair had been tamed, her curls elegantly falling next to her cheeks and framing her face. Her skin glowed against the extinguishing sun rays, her rosy cheeks made her appear as if she was filled with life. The life that Vincent lacked.

She was the total opposite of what Vincent was. As if she was a completely different being.

"Your heart will kill you one day, your body will fail you over the years, your brain will play mind tricks until you're officially deemed crazy. What even is the point of holding onto something that will just be taken away from you at some point." Vincent responded, a bitter hint to his words.

"Well, at least spare my lungs if you're going to be so bitter." She talked softly, an accent making itself know behind her sentence.

He took a last drag of his cigarette before sticking it into the ashtray that resided in the wooden table. "Your lungs have now been spared." He stood up opening the sliding door, but the girl called him out.

"Would you mind if I made a deal with you?" There was a cheeky smiled over her features, her hands brushing against an apple that rested over the table.

Vincent shrugged, turning around to look at the brown haired girl. "I give you this apple, if you give me your half deceased fern." She coaxed him, holding a plump apple in her hands.

"Why the hell would I want an apple?" He looked at his decaying plant, he felt some sympathy for it, it had been a gift from his previous boss when he worked as a barista in a small café. It had been a parting gift, when he told the old woman that he would be going to the school of his dreams to pursue art.

His stomach dropped.

The plant would be better off with her anyways.

So he gave her the fern taking a green apple in return before walking into his apartment and sliding the door shut.

He knew that his fridge was empty, so he took a bite of his apple before walking over to his blank canvas. He chewed, filling his stomach for the first time that day. Vincent stared blankly, his mind scavenging for ideas to fill the canvas with.

He ended up painting his half dead plant in front of a colorful sunset.