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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

A Lame Journal of a Wantbe Artist - 2. Chapter 2- The Starry Night

In the aftermath of Van Gogh's 1888 breakdown that resulted in the self-mutilation of his left ear. Van Gogh voluntarily admitted himself to the Saint-Paul-de-Mausole asylum. During the year Van Gogh stayed at the asylum, The Starry Night was painted.

So dear lame journal,

So the first thing I did when I woke up this morning was to check out the mystery drawing.

She added stars.

And they weren't those five-pointed fake-looking stars. They looked liked crystal balls, or like ghosts in the sky.

Whoa, I just got kind of poetic here.

But anyway, she added stars.

***

Somehow, someway, for some reason, Mr. Big Bird started talking about cell phones.

Bla bla we rely on our phone too much. Bla bla he's old. Bla bla we're an emotionless, soulless generation. Bla Bla our homework is to go to a real library. and cite real books Bla bla no cell phones.

That really didn't bother me. I hardly really use it outside texting Big Eyes. See I'm like the one person left in the world that doesn't have a smartphone, an unlimited data plan, or any of that. Yea, I know that's so lame.

"For this assignment, you'll be partners."

There are only two people I partner with. Big Eyes or Turtle. They like to take turns doing all the work. It was Turtle's turn.

Big Eyes turned around and smiled at Baseball. He nodded and smiled back. So...I guess that made them partners. Anyway, so we decided to go to the library together.

We took the subway to the pubic library. And of course, there was Crazy Pants was at the station sitting on her usual bench.

Oh, Crazy Pants is this homeless woman who lives at the subway station. I don't know her real name, I just call her Crazy Pants, because she sat on the bench talking to herself.

"Stopping looking at your phone." I told Big Eyes.

Crazy Pants started laughing.

"What are you laughing at Crazy Pants?" I bit.

"You kids and all of the fancy phones. You can't walk, talk, or eat without those little screens. That's what Jerry's always telling me."

I don't know who this Jerry is. I guess it's one of the voices in her head.

"I swear I watch you, kids, these days" she went on, "It's like you're all zombies...spirits..."

"Like Ghost." I burred out. I don't know why. I just thought to say it. I guess maybe I wanted to sound a little smart or something. "Like ghost in the sky."

Turtle turns to me, "George, that sounds deep."

I rolled my eyes to ignore him and looked over at Crazy Pants. She was smiling at me looking very impressed.

"Ghost in the sky" Crazy Pants nodded, "I like that."

***

So we finally got to this library. And it was dark and dusty and creepy.

"History of Communication," Baseball read off a random book.

I grabbed it and flopped it on the table, "Okay Turtle, you know what to do."

And then there was this old lady telling us to shut up.

Turtle and I moved by the window. He handed me a pad of paper and a pencil and told me to take notes while he read.

But come on, how long has he known me?

Plus...I got kind of focused on something else. See, form the window there was this great view of the New York sky. You could really see the stars. It all just looked so pretty and cool, and I just ended up drawing. I just started with one star then I just kept going. And I know I should have been listening to Turtle, but I just too focused on the sky. It was like the moon, the clouds, and the stars were all...like...connected.

"Wanta read back the notes?" I heard Turtle say.

"What notes?" I asked.

"You were supposed to be taking notes" He shrugged, "Why bother? All we have is a pencil and pad, and what can we do with that?"

Then he took the pad. And honestly, I got a little nervous. See, I don't really like people seeing my drawings. Because they suck. No one, not if Big Eyes, had seen me draw. Well until tonight with Turtle.

"George, I had no idea you were so good." he awed smiling at me.

That kind of meant a lot to me. And as I looked at the picture...I felt...good inside. Because it was good.

"Thanks."

I looked over at Big Eyes and Baseball. They were...taking and...looking at each other. I mean it looked like they were really happy.

I'm still not sure how I feel about it. It's like, I like seeing Big Eyes happy, but I don't like seeing her happy with Baseball. Does that make any sense?

I couldn't help looking at Big Eyes more now. She's so pretty.

As the night went on the library didn't seem as creepy anymore. I actually looked around and I actually found something cool, this big book called "The Great Book of Artists". It's about all these famous artworks and artists. I flipped through the pages just scanning when I came upon a page I found interesting.

The Starry Night by Vincent Van Gogh.

"In the aftermath of Van Gogh's 1888 breakdown that resulted in the self-mutilation of his left ear." I read to my self, "Van Gogh voluntarily admitted himself to the Saint-Paul-de-Mausole asylum. During the year Van Gogh stayed at the asylum, The Starry Night was painted."

I laughed, "So Van Gogh painted this awesome painting while he was in a crazy farm, wow."

Copyright © 2019 Another Gay Writer; All Rights Reserved.
Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 
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