Sunday, August 23, 2015

Today's #flashfiction Destined To Paint

 “Make him walk the plank.”
Captain Crunch* #quote

Hanged out with CJ today, the funitude went to the maxitude. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Destined to Paint

         I was supposed to paint masterpieces. I was a perfect genetic clone of the world famous, genius artist Dan Woodston and he was a perfect painter of every kind of art style. They would give me brushes when I was young and put me in art classes. But I couldn't do it. They kept pushing and pushing but I couldn't be him. They wanted their replacement and I could hardly paint an apple when I was ten. They all said “give it time”. They never gave up hope on having their idol resurrected in their clone. Apparently they believed my DNA would give rise to a replacement and more master works. But I couldn't do it. No matter how much they stared at me. No matter how many classes they put me in, no matter how many master artists visited my home and tried to mentor me I couldn't guide a brush cleanly across a canvas.
          On one of the many days they were forcing me to paint a picture my brush flicked specks of paint across the room. Naturally I had to clean it up before it dried. It had gone way over the plastics that were laid down to protect the furniture. I was still eight at the time. I grabbed a rag to clean it up and noticed a single speck had landed on one of the keys of a piano in the other room. My adopted parents loved that piano, it was their grandfathers. I knew I would be in massive trouble if they knew I had damaged it. My parents were the ones who pressured me the least to paint. The cloning was my was my uncle's idea since my parents were infertile and he was a fan of Dan Woodston and practically worshiped him. He was the one who pressured me constantly. He was the driving force along with the rest of the world, including the teachers at school. My parents had to listen to him because they couldn't support me without his money as well as the fact that Dad had medical bills to pay and Uncle helped with those too. Mom and Dad loved me, Uncle just loved Dan Woodston. Mom actually faked a few little “inspired” paintings to look like I was making progress to keep Uncle at bay.
         I wiped up the paint off the keys of the piano. That was the first time I ever touched the old piano. I loved making the sound. Even though I wasn't supposed to touch the old the piano without asking I played it anyway. I remembered a song I heard and I was able to copy it perfectly on the keyboard. I tried to copy another song and I did perfectly. Again and again I copied. I was able to copy every song I could think of. The piano came so naturally to me. Like an instinct.
I was so into playing the piano I didn't notice that I had woken up my Dad. I was shocked that he had gotten out of bed considering his health. I felt guilty that I had made him get up to punish me. He told me that I shouldn't have touched it without asking but then instead of getting angry he became overjoyed and complimented me and told me how skilled I was and told me to keep playing. And so I kept playing. I hadn't seen him so happy before. When Mom came home from work Dad had me play the piano for her. She was shocked to and overjoyed. She told me I was very skilled and hugged me close. She then told me things could actually change.
          I didn't know what she meant at first but when Uncle and the people from the art schools next came Dad and her had me play the piano for them. The people from the art school were overjoyed. They said I had a different destiny than art, started saying I should preform around the world. My Uncle looked at me and glared. This was the angriest he had been with me. Even worse than when I said I didn't want to paint two years ago. And back then he hit me.
          “I've never told you how much of a rich man I used to be.” he snarled, “And I've spent the greater part of my fortune bribing scientific organizations and lawmakers to get you born. Then I spend even more money to have the greatest artists in the world to visit you. But you're never going to be him are you? You're never going to become my idol are you? I'm never going to see Dan Woodston again? Instead you're just going waste your life, my idols next life, playing piano?” He huffed while he headed for the door, “Well, I will have no part in it. Good luck paying your father's medical bills!”
          I ran away from the piano to him and yelled to my uncle, “No! I'll still paint! I'll paint for however long you want! Please keep paying for Dad's bills!I don't need to play the piano!” All of the people from the art school fell silent.
          Uncle stared down at me before speaking, “And I know how much you hate painting.” my Uncle looked at Dad, “Mr. Woodston would never walk out on his own brother.” he sighed, “You don't need to paint anymore. Play the piano if you want and I'll keep paying the bills.”
Uncle still left. I could tell that he was still very angry. He kept to his word and kept paying the medical bills. Eventually father recovered, thanks to Uncle keeping his word. I stayed in school bringing in money on the side with my piano playing skills. I went to music school after high school and have been performing professionally ever since. And after awhile to thank Uncle for keeping his word I dedicated a small memorial to Dan Woodston.

          After making the memorial I decided to read up on Dan Woodston. I had never done it before because I had hated being compared to him so much before. I learned he hated classical music and once went on record saying, “It's overrated and boring garbage, and the only classical instrument that isn't boring is a piano but that's not because it's good, it's awful, each of its keys are like little, obnoxious, twanging needles. I'd die before touching that monstrosity.”

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