My Moon

1.

Hi, I'm Mickey Ghales. I am 20 years old and live in the Netherlands. I go to the art uni of the Hague. And this is the story about me and my moon.

I am at a charity gallery from my school, looking at some pictures made by my fellow students. It is in an actual museum which is an honour beacause my painting is just across a real Van Gogh. The paintings are for sale in a scilent auction and made by students. The money will go to schools in Etheopia.
While I am staring at a picture of a sinking sailboat, someone walked over to me. "You shouldn't be here." I hear a deep voice behind me say. Without turning around who this man was I asked "Why? I didn't knock anything over yet." He laughed. "Well, people with such beauty shouldn't be here, what if the museum wants to keep you?" This time it was my ego that laughed and I turned around to see who the guy was. He was tall, taller than me which is rare since I am 1.84m/6'0. He has brown short hair, green eyes and a big smile on his face.
I tried to respond with a good comeback, but his smile made me speechless. "Uh well, why are you here then huh?" Again he smiled and looked at me. "Well I am here to bid on paintings. What are you doing here?"
"I am one of the artists, I have to be here." The suprised look on his face made me laugh. "Which one is yours then, I would like to bid." With that said, he looked around trying to find out which one I made.
"I wont tell you, just bid on the ones you like. Tell me, what do you think of that one?" I pointed towards a black and white painting of a house. "Honestly, it is a bit boring. But the way it is painted is very interesting and beautiful." "Thank you!" I responded. "Everyone just thinks it is boring and they don't care about the way it is painted." "So it's yours?" "No, I try to make paintings with a story you can tell by just looking at it." He smiled and started looking. He turned around, asked "Hey are you joining me?" and held out a hand and I walked towards him.
We walked and talked a bit about our opinion of some paintings. Then he stopped. "Wow, look at that one" he pointed at a dark painting of a moon with some soldiers at the bottom. "The person who made that must have seen some stuff." I looked at it. "Why?" "No one can paint something this emotional and deep without having struggle with something or experienced something horrible. It so simple but it tells me so much. It has a story, a deep and dark story." He sighed in admiration. "I am going to bid on this." He wrote the name of the painting and the artist on a paper, looked at it once more and then walked along.
He didn't get far when I stopped him and asked: "Hey I dont even know your name yet." He looked at me. "Thomas, Thomas Carlisle. And what is the name of the beauty next to me?" "Mickey, Mickey Ghales." At first he laughed about the way I used his phrase but then it came to him. He looked at me, to his paper and back to me. The confusion was all over his face and that made me lauch. He read his paper again. "You made that painting?"