Nova Luna

Twenty-six - Zeus

Students were starting to roam around the campus, getting ready for the day. You could see on their faces how they hated Monday mornings. Who didn't? The day hadn't even started, and yet here they were, walking around like undead zombies, looking like they already had a week worth of boring lectures done. 

I was supposed to be one of them, but of course, I was not a student. I called in sick for the rest of the day. My eyes were exhausted, but my mind was still wide awake. I was planning on sleeping the whole day, but I found myself inside the university's art store. 

I grabbed the biggest canvas board I could lay my eyes on, and an extra set of oil paints—white, gold, blue, and black.

While robotically driving myself home, I started to think about what I could do with this giant canvas on my backseat. I couldn't even finish or paint anything in small canvases these past few weeks, and now I grabbed the largest one I found.

When I opened my door to my living room, I was greeted by the varying sizes of canvas boards I'd bought before. All of them were unfinished—random images that you couldn't picture, paint splats, and failed attempts at either hyper-realistic, abstract or surreal paintings. 

Pieces of old newspapers covered the floor, protecting it from opened cans or tubes of paint, and multitudes of different kinds of brushes that had the old, dry goop of paint stuck to their bristles.

I only had one easel, but I didn't bother to use it because the canvas I bought was too large for it. Instead, I made more room, adjusted my sofa and cleaned up a bunch of canvas lying anywhere in the living room.

I grabbed my favorite palette and sat on the floor. 

Nero sent me a text: he was checking out if I was just fine. I had no idea if he was just looking for me because I left him alone again for our research paper collaboration. 

His message was short yet I stared at it as if he had just written an essay.

I never bothered to respond. I still had a little bit of conscience and sulking towards astrophysics. But don't get me wrong, I still loved astrophysics as much as I loved painting.

It's just that I loved the people that surrounded me as a painter more than the people who burdened me with unreasonable expectations when I called myself an astrophysicist.

This day would be all about me, and the memories of Mr. Thomas. I wanted to immortalize him through the skills he taught me. 

But it was hard, it was like I was the whole orchestra without their conductor.

I closed my eyes, and I felt a bit scared. I worried that this huge blank canvas before me would meet the same fate as the others that were sitting around me. I was scared until I heard Mr. Thomas's voice in my head.

"Step one, visualize!"

The first lesson I ever attended. And I visualized a place of where I wanted him to be.

If heaven is real,
Bullet wounds should heal,
And I know how you'd look,
Exactly as how
they described it in these books:
Wings spread, pure white light,
Resting above, with unlimited might.
A place where shadows don't exist,
"Paradise," a feel of heaven's bliss.

And if a god exists,
He would let you read this:
"I wish you could just stay;
Dad, happiest birthday."

"One... Two... Three..." I whispered to myself.

I was never a believer of any religion. I am a scientist. It's not surprising if I am an Atheist. But tonight, I could see you resting peacefully with some divine being above the clouds. I hope you'd never feel the pain of these bullet wounds that you have to endure when you were here, or the emotional pain of all the rejections you've gone through.

"If only you could see this one right now, Mr. Thomas. I know Damian will do everything to make your parade happen, and I won't disappoint you with all the paintings I'll be putting there. We'll find you your artists. We will take care of the rest now."

These tears are for you. Rest in peace, old man.