Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 4 - 7 2018 | Page 272

“I don’t think so,” he said at last, brush poised over the canvas. “I’m not sure if I can.”
“You should try, at least.” My eyes darted meaningfully toward the small picture in the corner.
“Painting might be a coping mechanism, but you can’t paint away all the different personalities you have.”
There was a faint crack as the brush snapped in his tightened grip. His knuckles glowed white. Eyes
wide, I stared down into his tumultuous, conflicted gaze.
The room was silent.
“How ironic,” he said, and swept his brush down, adding yet another layer to the canvas.
*
Rain trickled down the window panes, diffusing blurry beams of light against the cell walls. Once
more, the Monkey King was sitting on his stool. His fingers flitted across the fabric of his painting,
smoothing down the stretched cloth of his masterpiece as he steadily ignored my words.
“Enough is enough.” The words burst out of me. “I have to know about the third personality!”
The Monkey King’s mocking laughter greeted me. Dark amusement tugged his lips into a half-
smile, yet his eyes flashed in fear. “Why should I tell you?”
I fumed and floundered. “You just have to. Otherwise, I can’t help you.”
“ Help me?” The Monkey King snorted, acerbic. “Please. You’re so blinded by your own delusions
of ‘helping others’ that you can’t even see all the damage you’re doing. Just leave me alone.”
“Delusions?” An abrupt, indignant fury swept over me like a blazing inferno and simmered in my
veins. “You’re the one who can’t face reality. I’m simply asking you to stop hiding behind those portraits
and enter the real world.”
He snarled, face suddenly contorted into grotesque anger. “I will not abandon my life’s work!”
“Is your art more important than your sanity?” I retorted. “Sun Wukong - the Monkey King -
whoever this third personality is - you know all these characters belong to the same person, yet you still
paint them as ‘different’ personalities. Can’t you see? These portraits are holding you back!”
“The only thing holding me back is you!” he shrieked. His nostrils flared with fury. Swept up in
anger, the Monkey King whirled around and hurled his almost-complete illustration to the ground. I
stumbled back as he lurched toward me.
“Are you happy now? What more do you want from me?”
“I want to know who the third personality is,” I insisted, eyes narrowed, mind whirling. “I want
you to show me the truth .” The need to know had been itching at me for days. Why was this room so
familiar? Why did all the portraits remind me of myself? Who was the third personality?
“You want to see the truth? Fine,” spat the Monkey King, trampling over strips of ripped canvas.
He let out a bitter laugh. “Ignorance is bliss. Isn’t that what they say? When I show you the truth, I want to
see you suffer.”
*
He painted as though he were possessed.