A Broken Brush, a Torn Canvas

Ivan gently placed a cup on the dining table, beside his drawing book and tools. He just finished teaching at school, and forgot all about buying more art supplies. He went straight home and reassured himself that this 'experiment' of his was nothing of a joke.

He focused on the cup, concentrating really hard on it, and started to draw. He copied every single detail he saw into his drawing. He thoroughly examined his cup again, then fixed or add some things to his drawing, and repeated it several times. He had to be extremely accurate for this case to work.

He was finally satisfied, then he leaned back and waited. Five minutes passed, and still nothing happened. He wasn't surprised, though, but after that his doorbell rang and he jumped in alert. Was I that tense?

He walked over to the door and opened it. A couple greeted him.
"Good afternoon," the man started to say as he held out his hand. "I'm Mr Allen and this is my wife, Sarah. We just moved in, and we think that it'll be nice to know who our neighbours are."
Ivan felt a bit guilty. "Oh, good afternoon! Call me Ivan. I was about to visit you, actually." He lied as he shook their hands, smiling.
"It's nothing, really" the woman smiled back. "We're aware of how apartment people live, actually."
"I agree, but since this is a small town I guess everyone knows each other," Ivan went on. "Oh, um, please come in and sit, I shouldn't let you stand any longer."
"Thank you," they replied.

They all sat on his couch in the living room, that was joined with the kitchen.

"So," Mr. Allen started. "We heard that you're an artist and a teacher."
"Yes, that's true," Ivan said. "I teach elementary students art in Elleworth's. Would you like anything to drink?"
"It's alright, thank you," the woman said. "I saw that drawing over there, you really are amazing."
"Thanks, it's um," Ivan couldn't tell what he was actually doing. "I was practicing."
"Our daughter told us that you're a nice teacher."
"Your daughter is... Mary, right?"
"True," Mary's father nodded. "We just moved here from Germany. We move a lot because of my job, but we're used to it."
Ivan wasn't the type who loved to travel and see the world, so he just smiled politely and nodded. He grew up in this town, anyway, and he only left it for college before realising that he went back to where he started. He moved in this apartment with a sigh, after all.

They had a few more conversations before Mr Allen thought that they were bothering him too much. Ivan refused and told them that everything's alright, but they decided to continue meeting the other neighbours. A few more formalities, and Ivan was alone in his flat again. He sighed, relieved. He was never good with new people, but he managed this one well.

He quickly turned and looked at his experiment. He was sure that they talked for an hour, but the second cup hasn't appeared. Maybe harder things needed more time to appear, he thought. I'll go and take a shower.

He took one and changed to a loose t-shirt and short pants. Then he checked the dining table again. There was still only one cup and the drawing was still there. It went well to what he expected. Now he just needed to do the next step.

He sat on his chair, taking a deep breath as he held the pencil. He drew a crack on the glass cup, and finished it off with shading, making it look dangerously realistic.

He heard a noise in front of him.

His real cup had a crack on it, the same exact one like in his drawing.

Now he was surprised.

Ivan erased the crack in the drawing with white paint and did that area all over again, and his cup fixed itself.

Then he was ready to do his sacrifice.

He took his cutter and sliced the paper. The cup crumbled to nothing, like that butterfly. But he realised that the cup was kind of expensive, so he had an attempt at taping the paper together again accurately from behind. The moment he looked up, his cup was there again.

He thought it was amazing, but it means that his cup's existence is tied to the paper now. "How do I cut it off..?"

He saw a lighter on the kitchen counter. He had an idea, but he didn't know if it'll work or not. Whatever, he decided, I'll sacrifice it for the sake of knowing.

He went to the bathroom for safety and lit the paper on fire. It burned to ashes, and he cleaned it up. He checked his cup. It was still there.

"Heh," Ivan grinned, amused. "This is fun. Never knew that I was this talented." He wondered why it just worked today and no sooner, but he decided not to bother with that question and enjoy what he has now. "I wonder if I can draw myself dinner, though?"

He tried to. Ivan took a plate from the cabinet. He drew a replica of the plate, then drew food on it. He waited for five minutes, but nothing happened. He tried to fill a glass with juice, but it didn't work either. So I can't do it without a good or strong reason, he concluded. Nice.

He stood up, only to switch from the chair to his sofa. He crashed down, his arm over his forehead. He didn't realise that drawing could make him feel tired. It felt like his brain was exhausted. Or was it because he did too many of 'those'... what was it called? It didn't even have a name, and Ivan didn't know what to call it either. He couldn't believe that he could accept the skill so easily either, and took the hang of it so quickly. He had fun, although drawing realistically also took some energy.

He stared at the door across the room. What was that door again? Oh, right. It led to him to his precious little studio.

His studio, he repeated in his head. Suddenly, his eyes snapped open.

The paintings!

Crap, he thought. What if everything went alive?

He jumped from the couch and leaped to the studio door.

Ivan expected for the bad to come upon him. He'd probably get eaten by his butterflies. Or his flowers. Or his birds. Or everything joined together to make one horrible monster. The worst case scenario to him was everyone came to life and figured out on how to open the window, then escaping to freedom. That would leave him with nothing, and he'd have to start from scratch with all of his past paintings, which would be trouble, since he had exhibitions and lots of art-related events with deadlines.

Damn it!

Ivan took the nearest weapon next to him - an umbrella - and opened the door, bracing himself.

"Huh..?"

Everything was still in place.

He checked the room thoroughly. Behind the papers, below the tables, inside his bags, under the rug, anywhere something could be hiding. Thankfully, he found none. It was quite a mystery, that everything started this morning and it's been more than ten hours since then. He'd still be cautious, though.

Ivan took an eraser and a cutter, and began to make tiny unseen spots in each of his paintings. He made a little white dot with his eraser if he could, and punched a tiny hole in the painting if he couldn't. Surely people wouldn't notice. If they do, though, he'll just say that it's his trademark.

He sighed. Cool things like these could cause a disaster, too.

So many unsolved questions in his head. He still felt tired, so he went back to his couch and crashed once again. He set the timer to twenty minutes, and in no time he dozed off... only to be awaken again by the ringing of his cell phone.

Ivan sort of hated cell phones when it interrupted him like this.

Without opening his eyes, he reached for his phone on the table and pressed the 'accept' button as he pressed it against his ear. "Hello?"
"Hey Ives, you're coming, right?" A familiar male voice said from the other end.
He was still part unconscious. "What? Where? Who are you?"
"Wake up," the voice only chuckled. "I know you're tired, but we got work to do, you know."

His eyes snapped open. He remembered now. That was his friend, Reese. He's a game developer, and Ivan offered to do the graphics and art. He does collaborations like this sometimes, since he's nice enough to. "Oh. Oh right. Sure, yeah, I'll come in an hour by bus."
"Great! I can't wait to start, I've already done the descriptions." Reese said.
"I'll eat in your place." Ivan asked, even though they'll order food instead of eating homemade ones.
"No problem."
"Alright, see you."

He closed the call, and sighed. My sleep will have to wait.

Ivan walked to his room. He took his laptop from his desk and put it in his bag, along with his drawing tablet, before including his other personal things inside. He changed into a quick outfit - a long-sleeved shirt and jeans - then wore his coat over it. Now he's ready to go.

He turned off the lights, went outside and locked the door. He put the key in his bag, like he did this morning. Things always dropped out of his pocket, and from his experiences, he learned to be extremely aware of that. He never even understood why'd people put their wallet on the back pocket of their pants.

He climbed down the stairs and headed outside.