"We have problems that can't be shared through words but can be translated through art."
SECOND'S / HEAVIEN LUVITOS' POV
The knife I got was the second smallest because that was all that was left. What First got was the smallest one. I don't know why he took that, but he looks satisfied with it. The countdown is over, and the game begins.
"Hya!"
"Ah!"
I got startled by Rochevel's squeal, then she ran away. The mischievous boy, Jecko, pointed a knife at her, which made her run away.
"Ha-ha! Come to me. I'll end all of your misery!" he shouted while swaying his knife at us. He started attacking everyone he came across.
"C'mon!" First pulled my right hand, and we ran up to the second floor.
Jecko sounds desperate to win. He holds the biggest knife, and it appears terrifying. As we hid next to a bedroom, my hands were sweating, holding First's hand. I'm getting shaky. It should no longer be biased, and we should only side with ourselves, but First is still helping me.
He pressed his index finger to his lip. "Shhh"
We heard footsteps going up. I saw a boy's shoes. I bit my tongue to avoid making unnecessary noise. Gradually, the boy approached and...
"It's the two of you. I thought it was that idiot," I breathed a sigh of relief to see Brenille's face.
"Watch out!" First exclaimed.
*booogsh*
"Crap!" – First
I was startled when a knife flew at us and hit the side of my left ear.
"Come on, that jerk is after us!" – Brenille. He must be referring to Jecko.
The three of us ran downstairs, where the others were last seen.
"Heavien!" Rochevel ran over and hugged me. I can feel her fast heartbeat.
"Hmp, I see what y'all do there. Y'all teaming up, huh?" Jecko had also come down to meet us with murderous intent.
He ran closer to the two of us. He raised his knife.
"What's wrong with you, Nilo? You're disturbing the neighbors. They can hear their screams!" Mama reprimanded my father.
"This has nothing to do with you!"
"That's enough!"
Nothing new. It's always like this in our house. My father is always hurting our four animal companions. When he gets angry and releases his emotions, abusing our pets will be his way of coping. This is the scene at home where my parents have conflicts. This is the scene when they have not yet separated. When my father started to be aggressive, his fights with mama became more frequent.
One afternoon, when I came home from school, I didn't expect him to try to hurt my mama physically. And because of that, he accidentally stabbed mama at the side of her chest with a kitchen knife.
"Stop!" My brother restrained our father and threw the knife away.
I supported mama, who was bleeding, and called an ambulance quickly. Mama almost left us, but her condition is still critical due to the illness of overwork. Because of what happened, I feel agonized seeing someone hurt. When they separated, my father lived in the province, and my mama, brother, and I remained in the city. I see my mama crying and having a hard time. It was all because of my father, who did nothing but forget that he had a family. He got tired of us. He quit doing his responsibilities as our father. He passed his masculine responsibilities to Mama. He maintains his good image to other people, but can't treat his family right. His outside actions contradict what he says and does to us inside a closed room.
My brother took a part-time job to aid Mama at home, especially since Mama is now limited to work. He also tolerated a serious leg injury, which is why he can no longer do martial arts. He was so passionate about it when he was in high school, but he quit. My brother is one of the pillars that I hold onto. But seeing him hopeless at times makes me ask myself what I can do for him.
In recent years, I have experienced challenges. The perseverance I put into studying to graduate, the suffering of not having everything I wanted as a teenager, and the burden of not having an ideal father to support us. These are some of my major problems in life. I don't have much to say about my life affairs anymore. My classmates and friends whom I don't want to talk about my life, my brother, who is busy with both study and work, and my mama, who is sick. I pour all my emotions into drawing and painting. We have problems that can't be shared through words but can be translated through art. And there's nothing wrong with keeping problems to yourself, but too many of them can destroy you. That feeling should be expressed by any means we deem possible and preferred.
"Heavien, proceed to my office to discuss your participation in the art contest."
One day, I was called to the faculty room by the teacher to discuss the art contest. I was painting in the art room because my teacher wanted to see my work before I entered the contest. I have also been excused from another subject that I will not be attending. What I thought of painting on the canvas was a woman's face. Her face is serious and calm, but there is a certain reflection in her eyes. I want it to be a simple painting, but deep in meaning.
"Just a little bit and I'll be done," I whispered to myself.
"What's with those eyes?"
"Hm? Ah, those eyes? Behind the woman's serious and calm face, there's a deep sigh-" I turned to the one who just spoke. "P-Presi?" He startled me. I almost hit the easel when I saw him standing behind me as I sat and painted. His face seems undisturbed as he stared at my canvas oil painting.
"What was it again?"
We've been talking a bit. It's been a few weeks since I asked him if he plays the piano.
"Oh, okay. Even if the face is serious and calm, you can see how a person really feels when you look into their eyes. In this woman's eyes, she feels resentful and sorrowful. At first glance, it is not noticeable. But if she opens her mind and heart to you, you will know the truth."
Did I explain it right? Ah, I don't know anymore, but that's how I interpret my own work. It'll be up to him if he can understand the meaning behind it. Art interpretations differ from one person to another. I'll handle his criticism then. There was a moment of silence as he stared at my painting.
"I'll take that," his questioning eyes narrowed.
"Hm?" I asked for clarification of what he just said.
"I'm asking if the teachers will confiscate that painting."
"Huh? Not really. This one's a draft. The teachers will check this first, and if I pass their standards, they'll include me in the contest."
Yes, I'm not yet officially an art contestant for the finale. It'll be a regional art competition, that's why the teachers are meticulous. And this painting draft will be my initial entry for the elimination round.
"Good"
"Why?"
"I'll buy that."
Surprised, but I agreed. I told him I can give it to him for free as a thank-you gift for being an acquaintance that we tend to talk occasionally, and for being my first potential buyer. I would also like to thank him for running the class since he became the class president. His platforms for our class are commendable. We have seen improvements, and our class gets more recognition.
"You're an artist, and you sold your work to me, that's why I should pay." Then he left me in the art room after he bought my painting.
When I opened the envelope that must have contained some cash, my eyes widened when I saw a large amount of it. This is my first time holding big cash like this. And my first time obtaining this amount with my own effort. He insisted that his payment wasn't enough because the paintings should cost more for their quality, but I didn't demand more. I would have returned the fee, but he insisted. This made me so excited that I earned something from what I love to do. The president is indeed ridiculously rich. Rumors had it right. How come a 16-year-old student roams around the campus and carries cash worth this? Anyway, I can help my mama and brother with this.
I was grinning the whole time when he entered the art room again. I got shy, so I hid the money. Oh, he's looking at the painting again. I can't hand it over to him yet because the teachers will check it first for confirmation. I got too carried away, and I already have the money in me.
"Uhm, as for the painting. The teachers will come here later to check. You might claim it tomorrow or maybe the day after it," I clarified to him. Hope he understands.
"Sure, no problem." That relieved me. "What's your inspiration for that?" I guess chit-chat like this with my first customer is normal since he bought it already.
"The truth is, I had the inspiration to paint this woman with mysterious eyes because of you, President." He was confused by what I said and didn't immediately get what I meant. "When I saw you in the classroom, and when I asked you if you could play the piano, I saw your eyes. It was calm but mixed with sadness."
"Is that so?"
"Yes"
"Then I'm glad to be part of your painting."
I smiled at what he said. Who would've thought that my buyer would be one of my painting inspirations? Funny how coincidental it has been, but I'm glad to entrust my painting to him.
Before he left, he asked me again. "By the way, what's the title of your painting?"
I thought about it because it doesn't even have a title; other than that, it's not finished yet. He's right, there must be a title for it. What would fit the most? I might consider a phrase or just a word. It took me several minutes, then something came to me.
"Silence. Silence is the title of my painting!"
"Why, though?"
"Because silence has the loudest cry."