Amon Din - Notes on "Colour of life"

Amon Din

2020-07-28 15:47:38

Notes on "Colour of life"

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(18+) Notes on "colour of life" His neighbour, she should not be the antagonist to doc. Too obvious. Her lover arrives that same evening, Harry hears sounds the couple make (chatter, giggles, steps, music, kisses, purring, quiet moaning), it irritates him to the point when he's compelled to leave his flat. While he's standing in the small desolate park just hundred feet from his flat, staring at the trees lighted up with the sidewalk lamp, his thoughts wander back to therapy. To the therapist. To his somewhat tired face. He did not look tired then, but now Harry remembers him as someone tired and... He tries to imagine living the life like that. Having that nice house and no neighbours above or across the thin wall... Having to have to listen idiots and psychos in that room all day, he said his schedule is filled. With harry himself like late night cherry on top. Sounds like hell. No neighbours? But he's got strangers in and out of the house every day alright. But wait, he's not like that, he sure does have a life outside the work routine... But his imagination stuck on this thought. What life? Doc with a woman out for a dinner? Or having party and small talk? Playing golf or scwash? Nah, he does not look like party person. Or Harry thinks that because he's identifying himself with him... Why the hell is he still thinking about this stuff? Probly cause there's nothing more interesting than this to think about. Damn routine. Not his fault that it's black and black. Its everything else. Sucks. He doesn't want to return to his room, there he can't be sure he can think in silence. Privacy issues, financial issues... Sick of all this, he returns to more interesting object. "So he's so sure of himself... There must be something that makes him this way. Something personal, something... Dunno... Professional. No, somehow it's clearly not the thing...", thought Harry. He at once understood that he envied him. To have that power of confidence... Would have been great thing... He suddenly remembered that day... The day he entered university as a student... They, his group, were standing at the riverbank, some place with the monument... Taking pictures, as this was the day they've become the students and the group officially... Harry wasn't there, wasn't part of them. He was at home, trying to understand what was it that waited for him in the nearest future. Somehow it wasn't planned long ago, it wasn't settled... He tried to see what's going to be next, and couldn't. Perhaps he ought to be there with the rest of them, to feel united with them... But he made his choice, he thought was right. He shook his head violently, trying to get the memory out of his head. It was no use to recoil this now. But he remembers, how hard he tried to concentrate on the next scetch, convince his enxiety that changes will not afflict this sacred part of his life that he called art. University takes his time for nearest five years, he has to let it savor its share. Crime of being born a human has to be punished, after all. As well as crime of being born poor. Another fragment of a face been carefully shaded, he laid last strokes where he noticed the shadow wasn't perfectly deep. Those three hours he was apart from his new group, he finished that scetch and sat for few minutes staring blankly into the eyes of half-blood asian old man. There was something disturbing in this unreadable expression of greyish orbs... Some hidden dishonesty... Yes, sometimes he decidedly picked such type to study, to challenge his own skill. It was the fragile spirit of human beings perhaps, that he was so hungry for. For something that he thought he lacked. But it was his lifelong destination, craft that he knew he was bound to improve all his life. His OCDs most irritated him because of the fact that like university, it affected his artworks. Sometimes he sought refuge in art, but instead felt as if he had brought ill air into safe room, into his temple of worship. He remembered tearing many almost finished paintings because of the cursed mark that OCD left on them through him. Friend of doc, that likes to drop by on fridays, teases him about his work and solitary lifestyle. - Word was that you have new patient coming to your rooms. Young heathcliff beauty. - All that is true, except that he is middle age bank clerk who's obsessed with red ties. - Really? Doesn't fit the description. - I can't discuss patients, and couldn't care less about rumours. - That's why you never drink in public. Shut in your museum of calming toys. - At least i don't get to share my firm with an idiot who plays underwater hockey with bunch of hoes. Want a snack? - Yeah, third pizza in half an hour. You don't get fat and that's like a superpower of yours. You have way too many, in my view. - Pizzas? - Powers, yo' wanker! - Thank you. I'm going to get coke, want some? Or juce, coffee, jin? - Madera will do. - You wish. I'll get you soda. - Ice!!! - Yes, miledy.