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So Here I am, Painting Death In A Canvas.

I am a painter, one of those wannabe kind working on convenience store to fund art school fee and other bills. Not a grand beginning for the story, I know, but that’s life..
 
Graduating from school was easy, granted the school standard isn’t that great, climbing up from being nameless artist is not. A slump after slump and I found myself stuck with the same routine of working late night behind counter waiting for the next customer. Filling the downtime with dreams of all kinds of landscape I could have painted during the day. Sadly most of it didn’t came out as good as I imagined in reality, a little bit off color here and there, fuck up with the perspective and other stuff.
 
So here I am; Staring at another empty canvas a few minutes before going to work, bills loitered on my feet; I don’t even bother to open them. All my attention are focused on the canvas, my supposed masterpiece to pay for all the failed ones.
 
Money from my parents’ death insurance have all but dried up now, I only had this empty canvas and a few others as the only way to bail out from being homeless. My family home occupied quite a large plot of land, and taxes…
 
There’s advice from my friend to rent some room to counteract the bills, but the thought of someone else walking inside our house, using my parents bedroom and shits on their toilet is no go for me. My social anxiety really hits at it worst.
 
Discarding all negative thoughts from my head. I closed my eyes; Clenching it tightly even. Brain worked hard to fill the empty dark space with a majestic landscape. Yet, what I saw is the most lackluster imagination ever.
 
My workplace, just a normal convenience store with nagging manager behind the counter. His face grimmed as if telling me to swap with him so he can smoke cigarette in the back alley. The only reason I was able to stand his tyranny is because of the higher than average payroll, and as if this jackass knew about it, he would work us twice as hard to take advantage of it.
 
Sometimes I wonder if that’s the reason why no one applied the job vacancy for another clerk. There’s only three of us working regularly apart from him. Me, James, the day-specialist, and Tom, our one way drive for all customer support. Things are okay between the three of us, our mutual dislike for the manager may be a small grease on our relationship.
 
James are studying for his night class law school. Already garnering enough money to last until graduation and job hunting. I once asked him why he didn’t just put the pedal on the gas and look for a more comfortable workplace; to which he answer “The moment some miserable sap took that vacancy offer you will not see me near this place again; To be honest, the only reason I’m staying is because of you and Tom. I’m still leaving after graduating though.”
 
Tom is one of those people seem to be bred for the purpose of customer support. Outgoing, cheerful, not blowing up when the customer asked stupid questions. On his day off he would be climbing mountains or snorkeling some mythical saltwater filled with fishes and coral I have never seen before.
 
His souvenir for me is always a dozen of landscape photos, which is a gold pile for me. I always found it to be pretty funny, a landscape painter who is afraid of going outside because he can't paint while someone is watching, or worried that someone might be; So he only could sit inside his room, staring at his friend’s photos before magically transferring it into the canvas.
  Oh, how the wolf would howl at the moon. Desiring it despite incapable of reaching it.  
There’s often times I began to question my life choices, but I no longer have any money to start learning other trades. So here I am, sitting on plastic chair with eyes closed in front of empty canvas hating my boss and contemplating my life.
  Nope, this isn’t going to work. Not today at least.  
I put the canvas cover back, covering my failure of creating some art worthy of a penny once again. Barely stood up before my hand phone vibrate on my desk. A message from James asking me if I’m available to replace him right now, a few hours before schedule. Apparently he just remembered an important assignment due tomorrow, and that Stalin-reborn-and-worse doesn’t allow him to work on it during downtime.
 
Sure, why not, I’m not doing anything productive anyway. Might as well get some extra cash.
 
 
 
The day was uneventful. Average number of customer, average number of unclear scolding, average number of extra hours to pay for not-so-average bills.
 
Tom, being an amazing person that he is. Offered a night out at local bar nearby after we closed the store. Being a poor sob that I am, rarely went out to night entertainment and currently near bankruptcy, almost instantly refuse his good intentions. The keyword is ‘almost’ , as he finished his sentence with two first drinks on his tab. Free alcohol during rough times is as good as water for fishes, and I am a big, thirsty fish right now.
 
 
The bar itself is nothing stellar, no young underage kids doing drugs or puking in the corner. Although I have to give A+ for their beverages collection.  
 
So here I am, trying not to abuse Tom’s kindness, ordered a simple drink before he does it for me; No mixes, no fancy name, just your normal convenience store middle-class alcohol I recognized on their shelf.  
 
The bartender gives me a stern look, as if asking what I’m doing there.  
 
“Easy there John, he is with me. Be kind to him.” said Tom from behind me.  
 
The so-called John just grunted and went to grab some glasses for both of us while pointing to a table in the middle of the room.  
 
“What’s the deal with him?” I asked Tom after we sit on our destined table.  
 
“I forgot to tell you, John only serve to old-timer and their friends. Visit a few times and perhaps he will acknowledge you as customer; if not?, better don’t try to come here without me. John is a bit eccentric, but nothing could beat his drinks.”  
Now, that’s one weird business practice.  
I want to ask more about it, but Tom was already busy answering greetings from fellow customer. So I had to satisfy my curiosity with a good look around the bar. Wondering how good his drinks is to be able to maintain steady flow of customer with low rate of first-timers.  
 
A good bump on the table made me turn my head with the acceleration of Ferrari. John’s face is right in front of me once again with previous stern look, making me wonder if that’s his normal expression. His eyes are locked at me, silently ordered me to stay still on my chair and be nice.  
 
“Thanks John, you are quick as always!” Tom already finished his greetings and nonchalantly tapping John’s shoulder without a care of showdown between us.  
 
“Umm.. I haven’t ordered yet.” My brittle voice slowly raise a question in response of three unknown liquor John brought. Trying my best to avoid the rage of the bartender in front of me.  
 
“Those two are your initiation drink. John will measure your worth and bravery for a fair price of half the usual, which of course, went into my tab. A great deal is it not?” Tom smirked on me, as if he just shared a surefire way to get rich quick on Forex.  
 
I normally would jump at any deal for half the price, being as broke as homeless right now; But still,I am not that desperate enough to just accept suspicious drink for someone who is staring dagger on me, at least if he’s not twice as big as I am and the drink is payed by someone to console me.  
 
The first drink torches my throat, and I can't remember the second one, as well as the rest of the night.  
 
Tom’s laugh and John’s face is all I could remember before everything went fuzzy. although John’s smiling face is somewhat disturbing enough for me to doubt its accuracy. Made me seriously reconsider the value of gap moe.
 
 
 
I woke up the morning after with serious hangover and lack of water in my system; After bumping into all edges on my house furniture, I finally reach the fridge and get a nice cool bottled water to reinvigorate it.  
 
Not too soon after finishing the whole bottle, I heard my phone ringtone from somewhere inside the house. I followed the sound into my bedroom, where the phone just laid itself on the bed.  
 
The screen showed the current call is from Tom, as well as plethora of missed call and message. 13:04 is current time, damn that was one serious hangover.  
 
I raised the phone to my ear and accept the call. Almost missing the ear-hole due to how dizzy I am still.
 
“Yo Tom, what’s up?”
 
“Your goddamn ass is up. Where the hell have you been!? “
 
“Well, maybe I have a hangover? Because last night someone took me to a bar and serve me some weird stuff.”
 
“Don’t you read my message man!? Barry is dead, they found him laid on top of the counter with store’s money scattered on top of him! The police is looking for you right now because you didn't answer their call!”
 
“Barry? Barry who?”
 
“Barry our shitty manager you slowpoke! Our boss is dead and you better call the police station right-”
 
I couldn’t hear what else Tom had to say, as the phone dropped to the floor as soon as I opened the canvas on the side of my bed.  
 
Someone had moved it here from my study room, and only managed to pull cover over half of it, revealing obvious sign of a painting hidden beneath it.  
 
A monstrous and horrifying painting, the exact same layout as I imagined it before going out to work yesterday, albeit with one addition.  
 
A body, laid atop the counter, with blood dripping from it onto the floor. His eyes look directly to me from inside the painting with the same grim; death grim.
 
 
My knees gave out and fell to the floor. My eyes directly in front of a scratch of red paint on bottom corner of the painting. A signature.
 
 
SoHereIAm
 
 
My name is Shia.
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