All day long the rain has been beating against the windows. I can’t bear to see the foggy sky on Monday morning at nine o’clock. I was depressed and didn’t know what to do at the moment.   

Suddenly, my phone ringed, “Hello, Miss Chen. Are you at school or home?” The ring saved me. It was from Mr. Zhao Bohui. Voice continued:” I will arrive at my studio in twenty minutes, come to pick up the scarf I promised if you are free now.”  

I remembered I did ask him for a scarf which was the extension products of his last exhibition, but I didn’t expect that he would take it seriously. Honestly speaking, I didn’t trust celebrities; those people have very short memories. So I quickly looked around my room to see if there was anything I could use as a return gift. Well, I’ve bought some Soft Waffle from Walmart yesterday. I took it and went to meet him.

It was the first time I met the artist in person. I didn’t know him well. When I arrived, the gift bag was ready on the tea table. Inside the paper bag was a silk scarf, a cotton bag and a magazine. To be polite, I didn’t take the gift and leave at once. 

To be selfish, I missed the smell of the paints and the chaos of the studio. I needed a little time to sort myself out. 

“Are you going to paint this morning? I began to talk at random.

“No.” He leaned on his sofa and lit up a cigarette.

“May I take photos of your paints?”

“Make yourself at home.” He smiled.

I realized he was a man of few words just like me. But I did appreciate his warmth and suited myself.

There were paints leaning against the walls, piled on the desk, then, I found several paints hid in the corner. Three framed portraits in black and white, another group of comprehensive paintings. Those were not the same as the ones on his last show and feelings cannot be ignored. The show was sweet, bright, full of happiness and prosperous. 

“My world is just like this paint, dark and heavy.” I pointed out one of the paints. 

“Tell me what you think,” he demanded with another old paint on hand. 

“I am not sure if it worth keeping.” He said bitterly. 

“It’s hard to say.” I gave a wry smile. I knew he could paint over previous work. But I didn’t stop him from tearing off the canvas. The sound was clear on air and I hate to see that. 

A song appeared on my mind.

“ Through early morning fog I see

Visions of the things to be

The pains that are withheld for me

I realize and I can see

That suicide is painless

It brings on many changes 

And I can take or leave it if I please

That game of life is hard to play

I’ m gonna lose it anyway

The losing card I’ll someday lay

So this is all I have to say

Suicide is painless

…

To answer question that are key

“Is it to be or not to be”

(To be continued)