A Broken Brush, a Torn Canvas

It was a bright sunny day. The vast blue sky was spread endlessly before them, and the fields of grass were golden. They rested under the shade of a lone tree, separating themselves from the reality only made up of dull buildings and grey roads.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" The girl looked at him. "Why weren't you excited when I asked you to come, Ives?"
"Sorry about that, Amy." Ivan smiled nervously as he scratched the back of his neck.
"Never mind about that!" Amy grinned as brought up the mood. "Now that we're here, we should eat!"
"What, you brought food?"
"What did you think I was carrying in this basket?"
"Ah, I didn't notice it. You know why?" he said as he looked at her. Her bright green eyes were dazzling. Her golden hair was beautiful.
"Why?" She asked, innocently.
"Because you distracted me," he blurted out. "You're the most beautiful person out there."

Amy blushed so hard, her face looked redder than the cherries on the cake in her basket. She's cute, Ivan thought. And it was the perfect opportunity to strike. He cupped his hand on the side of her face, bringing her to look at him. He was about to lean in when Amy's eyes widened in shock.

Blood started to spurt out of her mouth. She looked down, and found a knife that has been stabbed through her heart from her back. She made gagging noises of pain. Ivan caught her on his arms - his face in horror, his mind in disbelief.

"Amy... Amy, no! Stay with me, Amy!" He cried out.
"Iv..an..." The dying girl called out weakly. A tear shed from her eye.

She reached Ivan's face with her hand, giving her last and remaining strength. Ivan held her hand in his, and saw Amy giving him her last smile. And a second later, the warmth has left her body. She was gone.

Ivan called out hysterically. "You can't leave me! Amy-"

----------

He sat up on his bed, still calling out her name.

"...Amy."

He looked around, and realised that it was just another nightmare. The clock in front of him showed that it was 5:02 AM, Thursday, 19th of October, 2013. What a restless sleep he had. Nightmares were coming to him lately. It was unavoidable. Especially about...

Never mind, he shook himself out of the remaining horror left inside him. Don't cry over it, you wimp.

He wanted to sleep again since he still felt tired, but he was so afraid of having another nightmare. He was sweaty, anyway. Disgusting, he thought. You stink, Ivan. Being a hygiene-freak, he really took care of himself well. Especially when Amy was around.

He winced at the pain in his chest. Amy...

He landed his foot on the floorboards. His flat was cold and empty. It felt like that ever since that day she left the world, like something is missing.

Ivan dragged himself to the shower like a zombie. And he did look like a zombie. His face was paler. Black circles started to form near his eyes from the restless nights. His close-cropped light brown hair was a rat's nest, and his dark eyes themselves looked hollow. Damn it.

He was slightly out of shape, too, even though only a little and unnoticeable by other people. His built was naturally tall and lean, and he kept that up. He felt weaker lately this week, and he runs out of energy more often.

Or he just needed breakfast.

He looked no more. He quickly took his clothes off and dumped them to the corner of the bathroom. Taking a warm shower, he started to relax.

Once he was done showering, he dried himself up and put on his usual navy shirt and trousers. He opened the curtains of the window in the living room. He left all the lights off except for his room's and the bathroom's, but he knew well where everything is. It's his flat, after all. He felt like he's been living here all his life.

Ivan Rivers was a 25-year-old man who worked as an art teacher in an elementary school. He thought the job suited him well as he enjoyed teaching art to children. He's an artist himself, and one room in his flat was his studio. He could spend a whole day in there with his paintings if he could. His style was unique; he would draw and line out a billion things at once, but only colour the butterfly beautifully, leaving the other things around it in a black-and-white blur, although they still have their colourless beauty. Or he'd colour them in a darker combination. He could make the subject feel special, and the objects around it praise in awe as he pours in the colours and combines them beautifully. Well, that's what he liked to do when he can, though. Of course he knows all the basics, therefore he could study many other styles and forms.

He could be minimalistic sometimes, too, since he likes simplicity instead of complicated paintings. Ivan was also very picky about colours.

He rarely used oil paint, although he has a good set of it (untouched). He'd use a huge piece of paper and use watercolour on it. Not only that watercolour suits his style, but to him, it saves money. Just with the right amount of paint and lots of water, you can already create lots of wonders on a blank paper.

Or he could just colour digitally. There's always his drawing tablet and desktop around.

He walked away from the window and made himself breakfast, relying on the gloomy morning light slowly crawling over the horizon. It was now 6:14. Ivan put his toast on a plate and continued making his tea. He doesn't drink coffee. He thinks the bitter taste is strange.

He had forgotten about his nightmare by then, and he enjoyed his breakfast in silence. He intentionally didn't have a TV, since the loud noises and advertisements annoy him so much. It was weird, but televisions made him feel lazy and he had the urge to yawn all the time. He was no person living under a rock, though. He had his laptop and Internet.

Finishing his tea, he felt calmer. He stood up and washed his cup and plate. He reached for his bag, which he had prepared earlier last night, and took his favourite jacket from the coat hanger. He planned something before arriving at his workplace. He should be there at eight, anyway, so why bother coming too early?

He had promised himself to remember this day.

Ivan walked out of his flat and locked it, putting the keys to his bag. He climbed down the stairs and reached the bottom floor. He was greeted by the kind old lady who owns this apartment.

"Good morning, ma'am." Ivan greeted her.
"Morning, Mr. Rivers." She greeted back, as she swished her broom above the floor. "Going out so early today?"
Ivan forced a little laugh. "There's... there's something I need to do."
The lady didn't bother to pry him up. "Anyway, I had a family moving in to flat number 3 last night. Maybe you'll see them in the afternoon."
"Ah, okay," Ivan nodded. "I will. See you, ma'am."

He stepped out of the door, and the cold October air hit his face. His breath curled up into a mist. The dull grey sky above him was devoid of cheerfulness. He walked down the empty, quiet streets, still asleep early in the morning. He walked down the street until he found a small alley and went in. The alley went into the back of the town, and opened up to a small path, leading him to a place near the forest.

He stopped at the tall gates, looming above him. It was old and fallen leaves got stuck in between its bars. Ivan inserted his hand through the bars and opened it from the inside. The gates swung open silently, which was a relief, since Ivan didn't want it to be creepy.

He stepped in and pushed the gates back. He was in a cemetery.

He walked down the little paths, and took turns in between the graves. All of it was unconscious. His thought was only fixed to one thing.

Ivan finally came to a stop. He was in front of a grave he knew so well.

It was Amy's grave.

"Hi there," he tried to smile. "How are you? Don't miss me too much, okay?" He said, but he thought it sounded stupid, since actually it's him that's missing her so much.

He stood next to the grave, and took out a drawing book from his bag, along with a few art supplies. He began sketching a really beautiful rose, then coloured it delicately with only a single red colour pencil. His strength was so exact and estimated while colouring it, he didn't need anything else to make the beautiful rose come to life. Then he doodled a lot of their memories that they share together around the rose with a 0.5mm permanent marker. The special cake Amy loved to bake, and Ivan loved to eat. The lone tree where they always sat in comforting silence, just looking at each other's eyes. The place where they had their first kiss. The roof of an abandoned building where Ivan had confessed to Amy, asking her to be his girlfriend. Her favourite dress. The words she used to say.

Normally, people would just buy flowers for their loved ones. Ivan was being too creative just for today.

Ivan tore out the drawing from his book when he was finally done. He folded it thrice and and carefully slipped it into a little gap in Amy's gravestone securely so nothing could take it away. "Happy birthday, Amy," he said.

"I love you. I love you so much."

He stood there for what felt like hours, staring to her gravestone, before looking up. "I have to go, Amy." he said, holding back his tears. He can't be seen as weak to her now. She'd laugh at him, although she'd hold his hand while wiping his tears away after that. "You're always by my side, right?"

He whispered another I love you before turning back, finding his way between what seemed like billions of other graves although it was a fairly small cemetery. When he reached a fair distance, he looked back.

His drawing was gone. Maybe blown away, to his disappointment. But he noticed something even more shocking.

There was a beautiful red rose on Amy's grave.

He looked around. Surely nobody was here? So how did a rose appear right there? Ivan stood in confusion before the creeps got into him, and he decided that he was probably messed up from lack of sleep that he started hallucinating.

He turned back and rushed his way outside the graveyard.

He looked at his watch. It was already 7:20. The sunlight began to fight through the clouds, hitting his face with early golden light in between the trees. It comforted him a little. He didn't realise how cold it was. He took a deep breath, letting himself enjoy the warmth for a few more seconds, then continued on his way.

When he was back to the main streets, the town stirred to life. He walked his way through, keeping himself distracted by examining the daily lives of other people. A lady sweeping the golden leaves off the stairs of her shop. Several cars went by with people going to work. A student riding his bicycle past him. A cafe that recently opened, the smell of coffee and pastries filling up the air.

He was trying not to recall how she died.

--x--

23rd OF SEPTEMBER, 2008
9:24 PM

They walked down the quiet dimly lit streets, side by side, the only
people there awake in this quiet town. She was wrapping her hand around his, leaning to his shoulder.
"Are you cold, Amy?" Ivan asked.
"I'm fine," Amy smiled at him.
Nevertheless, Ivan unwrapped his own scarf and put it around her neck. She gasped a little, but then breathed in the warmth of the scarf. It really smelled like him, so she felt more comfort. "Thanks," Amy whispered.
Ivan squeezed her hand. "Just a few more turns to your house."
"Of course I know," Amy giggled.

They were stopped by a dark hooded figure standing in front of them. Ivan thought the man was just going to pass by, when he noticed the knife he was holding. Amy froze, clenching his clothes in hidden panic: What's happening, Ivan?

"You..." the man began to speak. "Why did you... take her..."
Ivan tried to act calm. "Who are you?"
"You don't recognise me anymore, Ivan?"
"Maybe if you put down your hood and that dangerous kitchen knife, we could talk."

The man growled. He didn't put down his knife, but he did reveal himself. Amy looked upset. Ivan's eyes widened. "Ken?"
"Still remember me from high school, huh?" He smirked.
"What are you trying to do?"
"Oh, you know..." He looked sharply at Amy. "To retrieve what's mine."
"You came here, only to find us?" Amy managed to cry out. "I knew there's always something wrong with you, Ken. You can't have me!"
"Is that so?" His grip on his knife tightened. "Well, if I can't have you... no one will, anymore!"

He lunged forward. Ivan instinctively pushed Amy backwards, trying to fight his mad friend. It was also painful for him, too. He couldn't believe, that all this time, Ken always wanted to avenge him. But this way? The violent way? Ivan remembered him as a popular jock during high school, but he wasn't a troublemaker. Just what has made him like this?

Ivan wasn't prepared. He didn't even know how to do hand-to-hand combat against a dummy. He won't have a chance. Nevertheless, there was nothing else to do but to protect Amy.

Ken kicked his stomach, causing Ivan to fall down in agony. He was beaten up a dozen times more. It's over, he thought. My life may be over soon, but at least...

He looked up and saw Amy still sitting down a few meters away, her eyes in horror. Ivan tried to call out to her. "Amy... run."
"It's over, pal." Ivan could feel Ken raise his knife.

Just when the blade started to fall, Ivan felt like time slowed down. He saw Amy starting to stand up. Thank god. At least you'll live. I got you some time. But his heart dropped when everything didn't really meet his expectations. Amy didn't escape to her safety. She leaped to him, and covered him from the fatal blow with herself.

Ivan heard a small gasp as the knife passed through her.

And then he felt Amy's body being lifted off from him. Ken was holding her in his arms, his feelings far more shocked than Ivan.

The beaten up man only stared for a few seconds, before feeling anger boiling inside him. "How disgusting," he muttered. "Creatures like you shouldn't even exist." Ivan found his strength, got up and punched Ken's face. Hard. He could only do that since Ken was still distracted with shock. The only thing he knew is that both of them will be burdened with regret and guilt for the rest of their lives.

He punched him a few more times to knock him out unconscious, then took Ken's jacket off and tied him with it. He noticed that he already took out the knife, and he threw the bloody thing away since it terrified him.

He ran to Amy and held her. Her favourite coat was soaked with blood, along with his scarf. She was, miraculously, still breathing. Her eyes were getting heavier and heavier. She lifted her hand weakly, and Ivan held it tightly. "Ivan," she whispered.
Ivan reached his pocket with his free hand. "Amy... just stay with me, I-I'll call the ambulance-"
"Listen."
He couldn't hold it anymore. A tear ran down his face as he looked at Amy's face.
"Live," he heard her whisper, as she closed her eyes.

"I love you."

Her death was always repeated in Ivan's dreams. Different places, different situations, but always the same knife passing through her chest. He never knew when it'd happen, but he couldn't avoid it. His mind was torturing himself.

Soon after he could no longer feel her soul inside her body, the police arrived. A lady at the other side of the street watched what has happened and called immediately.

There was nothing Ivan took as 'lucky.' People kept telling him that he was lucky to be alive, and even Amy's parents forgave him and went back to their grief, since they had a good relationship from the start. "There was no fucking good thing from what happened," he muttered as people tried to comfort him. "She's dead now. I could have... I should be the one who's dead!"

And Amy's words came back to him a few months later. "Live."

He really obeyed for the sake of her. If he couldn't live right after that, then her sacrifice would be in vain. And so Ivan continued doing what he really likes, mending his soul back by painting and creating amazing things on blank paper. He tried to devote himself to people by being a teacher, teaching on what he was best at. To most people, it looked like as if he lived a simple, enjoyable life.

His scars never fade, though.

////////////////////////////

It only took Ivan less than ten minutes from his apartment to walk to this school. He went past through the open gates, greeted by some children, and walked inside the building. He pressed his thumb to the little box machine all the children never figured out what it was about, and continued his way to the teacher's room. After running into some other teachers and having a quick conversations, he finally reached his desk. He hung his jacket around his chair and put his bag under his desk.

He examined his desk like he always did every morning. A pencil holder full of pencils and random notes. Several photos of school-related events slipped under the glass to remind him how much he loved this place. He wanted to look at his schedule for today, but he found a stack of drawing books - the student's drawing books. The students must have left it there after he went home. He looked at them one by one, and noticed that they were all from class 5B.

Ivan was less optimistic about grading their works, but he did anyway. One had no talent, but she tried her best. The other one did it half-assed. The last one had potential, and he knew this boy quite well. I'll return this to them during the first break, he decided.

He quickly noted their scores in his record book, then finally sat down. Back to his daily life, his busy routines. It felt like nothing ever happened earlier this morning. Seeing all his co-workers and even more people around him, it either made him less scared or even more scared. He'd have to act confident in front of everyone, especially the children later on. He'd have to let Amy rest in his mind.

"Morning, Rivers." A familiar voice called him from his side.
Ivan turned to look at an older man with dark eyes sat on the desk beside him. "Morning, Mr. Thomas."
"Everything going well?"
"Yeah, how about you, sir? The students doing well in English?"
"Not really," he said, without a serious tone. "Maybe I just gave them practices that were too hard for them.
"By the way," he continued, "you're going to teach class 1C after homeroom session, right?"
Ivan wanted to check his schedule, but he remembered before he did. "Yes, that's right."
"I heard that they're having a new student there."
"Really?"
"Yeah. She came in today since she'd just move from another country."
"Parents on business?"
"Probably."

The school bell rang.

The teachers had their morning briefing. And when it was time for Ivan to head out, he grabbed his books and art tools. Then he calmly walked to class 1C and walked in.

"Good morning, Mr Rivers," the pupils greeted him.
"Good morning." He smiled at them. "How are you all?"
The students answered at the same time. When the cheering died down, he noticed the new face Mr. Thomas told him about. She was sitting in the corner. She didn't look up, and her face was hidden under her hair, her gaze fixed at her fingers. She's shy, he thought, it's normal.

"Class, you have a new friend today, right?" Ivan started. The girl tensed, and he felt sorry for her, really. Whoops. Wrong approach.

The children only nodded. He approached the girl's table, and attempted to make contact with her, leaning down. "Hello there, I'm Mr. Rivers. I teach about arts and crafts."
She only nodded, not lifting up her gaze. All the kids are looking at her now.
"What's your name?" Ivan asked, gently.
She finally looked at him and managed to say her name. "I'm Mary Allen."
"Nice to meet you, Mary. Let's get along well."
"Yeah," she said, still looking at him.
"Mary's so awesome!" The girl beside her blurted out loudly. "She came here all the way from Germany!"
"Shh, Liz, don't say that aloud..." Mary tried to stop her, but her voice faltered.
"Why should you hide it, Mary?" The boy in front of her said. "It's really super cool!"

Ivan only smiled. He coughed, and the class gave him attention. "Since you all seemed to have gotten along well, today I'm going to have you work in pairs.
"Pick a friend and try to draw their portraits as best as you can in your drawing books," he continued. "You can use anything you like to draw it. Remember, no making fun of each other!"
"But what if I can't draw?" A girl asked him.
Ivan's expression softened. "You can. Everyone can. Try it yourself first, I'll go around and help when you need it."

Soon, the kids were in pairs, face to face with each other. Ivan decided to wait on the teacher's desk for a few minutes while examining the class. Mary went with Liz, which looked like an angel-and-demon relationship. They'll get along uniquely.

He stood up and began to look around. Some were using colour pencils. Others used crayons. A girl naturally coloured inside the lines she drew. Another went berserk. One started colouring without lining out his work first, making solid, rough, humanoid shapes with his crayon. Ivan didn't interrupt. He loved seeing new styles and ways.

He suddenly felt a tug on his shirt. "Can you draw a flower on Mary?"
Liz whispered loudly. "I can't draw flowers, but I think it'll look great on her."
Mary was too distracted to her work.
"Sure," Ivan kneeled down beside her table, taking a pencil from his pocket. He somehow knew that the flower should be on her hair, and easily drew one.
"Awesome!" Liz said. "Can you colour it too?"
He laughed. "Fine. What colour?"
"Red."

And he did. Liz was using colour pencils, so he did it quickly. Mary later realised what he was doing.
"Don't colour it!" She exclaimed from behind.

Too late. Ivan coloured the last blank spot before turning to her.

She had a red flower on her hair.

Mary wasn't wearing one before.

"Mary, I didn't know you were wearing one too," Liz grinned. "Amazing. I know everything!"
Mary laughed a little. "Yeah, maybe..."
Liz turned to Ivan. "Thanks, Mr Rivers!"
"No problem." He said.

Ivan sat back to his desk as his confusion grew. The heck was that? He thought. Don't tell me... is this even real? He took a piece of paper and sketched out a butterfly, then coloured it realistically. He was no fool to conclude that he was starting to get mad, but he didn't want to believe about what happened either. It happened twice already, and until it happened for five times, he wouldn't believe it.

He needed proof. What if I draw an animal?

He finished the butterfly, and it looked pretty realistic. Ivan sat back and waited as his gaze switched back and forth between his watch and the table in front of him.

Nothing happened for a minute.

Two minutes.

Five.

He nearly gave it up when he saw a butterfly landed on his table, with the exact same wings on his drawing. His eyes widened in shock.

He looked up. None of the kids noticed what he was doing, thankfully. He was still alert of Mary, though. Did she know about these things from the start?

Examining the butterfly, his mind started to analyse like a scientist doing an experiment. And he was doing an experiment. It might seem a bit cruel, but hey, it was his own art he's experimenting with.

What if I cut the paper?

Ivan opened his pencil case and took out a cutter. He held the paper tightly and sliced his drawing. He was afraid that it would die and made him look like a sadist, but the real-life butterfly crumbled into nothing. Like, crumbled, as if it was entirely made up of brightly coloured dust, and what remained instantly faded away.

He was terrified, but his curiosity pushed him farther.

He drew an ant with a 6B pencil, on its normal size since a huge ant would freak him out. Soon enough, an ant was crawling from the side of his table, and quickly got on his paper. Ivan took his eraser and erased the drawing completely. The real ant crumbled to dust.

Ivan began to conclude things. So if he drew anything realistically, even live things, it would appear close to him. And if he either destroy or erase the drawing, it would disappear by crumbling to nothing.

But what if...

Before he could continue, the bell rang, bringing him back to the world. Right, I should figure this out when I get home, he told himself. I should focus on my work first. There's a lot to take in today.