stars stare wordlessly at the grim and wistful man, and occasionally daub a bit of brown here and there.
Then he would stare at the background, adding a bit of black to create an even darker tone. Every time
the man’s hand met the picture, the young man became even sadder and sadder. His red shirt stood out
against the darkness, as if to deny his death. His eyes were dark green and gentle, but they contained
no feelings. The man added a few last strokes, and giving it a swift once-over for the last time, took the
painting out of the room and went into his shop. The green-eyed man was still smiling sadly, a forlorn
look on his face.
The man checked his watch. It was almost noon, exactly two weeks after the girl’s visit.
* * *
The girl stared at the picture, tears spilling from her eyes. This time, as she looked at the
odd-looking man, she gave him a genuine smile, mouthing “thank you” quietly as she left the shop.
A little boy, noticing the woman walking out with tears on her face and a small smile, entered
the shop.
* * *
When the man looked up from his newspaper at the sound of the bells, he wasn’t surprised to see
a young boy with a baseball cap looking around. Children often became curious with the strange-looking shop and entered, without really knowing what the man did.
“My boy, what are you doing here?” he asked, when he noticed that the boy was staring intently at the pictures on the walls. The boy was especially enticed to the largest painting in the middle of
the shop, which showed a beautiful woman in her 40s, her hair falling gracefully to her shoulders, and
smiling the same empty smile like everyone else.
“I am sorry to disturb you,” the boy replied, “but I just want to know why all the people in the
pictures look sad.”
The man smiled gloomily as he looked at the boy. He was debating whether or not he should
tell the truth, but he decided to when he looked into the boy’s clear and innocent eyes.
“That, my boy, is because they are people who have passed away, and this is how their families
and lovers want their pictures to be.”
The look on the boy’s face told him that he didn’t completely understand.
The man continued, “All those faces are people who died, who are gone. Their families or lovers, however, want to remember them, and ask me to draw a portrait of them. The thing is, though, they
don’t want to see happy faces because it reminds them of the times that they will never be able to have
anymore. So they ask me to paint a picture of their loved ones filled with the pain and sadness that they
are experiencing. That way, they can experience the anger, the hollowness, the longing, the regrets by
looking at their lost ones. Many people think that overcoming sadness is only done by facing it instead
of avoiding it, so they face their pain and sadness every time they look at their loved ones.”
“So the paintings reflect the feelings of their families or lovers.”
“That’s right.”
The boy nodded thoughtfully, and then looked up at the man again. “Okay...but if they get over
their sadness, wouldn’t it better for them to remember the happy faces? If they keep seeing sad faces
even after they get over it, they could be sad again.”
The man chuckled, “Aren’t you a clever young man. Can you go and draw the curtains open for
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