A Painting

Paintings are images drawn on paper.

Sometimes pictures carry meanings.

However few carry meaningless theme.

Above all. . .

Rarely paintings represent true love.

Painters cannot be blind, can they?

Credits:

Poster and background: From Seasonal Wishes' Star-Chan. (seasonal-wishes.blogspot.com)

Her work is definately shining as her name.

Chapter 1

A Painting

Jung Jessica’s perspective

I waited patiently on the freezing metal chair seat beneath me as I watched the young doctor scanning a piece of paper in his large pale hands. The room was silence apart from the sound of my beating heart. The only source of light in this room was from the sun which passed through thin white curtains. A grand white shelf full of thick books, medical books obviously was subsequently to the floor-to-ceiling window. Frames occupied one side of the wall, literally. Mostly of the pictures are of people. People he grew up with study with and worked with. Someone once told me, if you observe a room in which a person’s live; you would quite a bit about the person. This room is telling me the man behind this grand dark wooden desk is determined, polite and kind hearted. My eyes moved from one object to the other but my sights immediately diverted to a pair of glasses behind them are mysterious dark glittering eyes that can make any girl faints when I heard the rustling papers. He glanced at me for a moment then back to paper; that made me somewhat nervous because he did this multiple times. Finally he set the paper down and stared hard at me. His perfect face mesmerized me; it was kind of symmetrical with smooth straight chin, high cheekbones. He was indeed for too young and handsome to be a doctor. Maybe he could be a model instead. I gently tore my eyes from him to his nametag. There clearly labeled him as ‘Doctor Jung YunHo’.

“Jessica,” he paused, calling my name. I stared at his eyes, trying to remember to breathe. His showed anxiety yet his soft voice sounded flat, unemotional. I know what’s he’s going to tell me, it won’t be good news by his tone. He could an excellent actor. My heart sank; my hope vanished as he told me. “Your vision is getting worse. I’m afraid you will lose it soon, very soon.” His deep bass voice was finally colored with concern when he said his last two words. The corner of his lips was pulled down, he was somewhat sad. This man who knows nothing about me, felt unhappy. It proved he was kind hearted. I smiled at the thought; this smile could also ease the awkward atmosphere. He did relaxed after a few seconds and continued to read the white paper hoping there would be a mistake. His eyebrows moved down, he was frowning but I could not see the rest of his face. It was not his fault but I know he felt guilty somehow. It was after all his job to cure or save people.

However, he would never be able to heal me.

I stood up from the cold steel chair and that made his eyes searched for mine. I still kept the same smile on my face and thanked him. Then without saying goodbye, I left his office, not noticing what was around me I just walk away. As soon as I reached the entrance door of the hospital, I took a deep breath and exhaled I read my watch and smile once again, this time genuinely. He must be waiting for me; I was ten minutes late. I bet he would start complaining about my slowness. Thinking of his sweet captivating deep voice made me happy. I absolutely love it. I went inside my car and drove away, like nothing happened. I arrived at my painting studio fifteen minutes later. Just as I suspected, there he was standing near the large two glass doors, tapping his foot and glaring at me. He had those chubby cheeks, so if he glares or smiles, those cheeks would rose and you would get that feeling you want to pinch it. I wonder if this is the last time I ever see him glared at me. I threw that thought out of my head immediately. Like I guessed earlier, he commented on my punctuality. He goes on and on about my sluggishness then went quiet, as I hunt for my keys. I knew him well enough that he was now glaring. He would glare for hours if he were very annoyed. As soon as we entered my private painting room, I put on my used to be white apron and asked him to sit down. He obeyed after a few seconds of glaring at me. I rolled my eyes at him because of his childish behavior before starting what we left yesterday. He kept on fidgeting from time to time and asked if I was done yet. His eyes were difficult to capture; they were shining and you could understand whatever he was feeling as long as you look deep into his dark eyes. Apart from his smile, his eyes could make you happy. I would only laugh and endured his impatient manners as I brushed my last painting.

I know this was going to be my last painting.

Gradually my head felt heavy. At first I thought it was just a minor headaches that I have been suffering recently. However, my head grew heavier and my vision stared to spin, taking half of my concentration. My sight of him began to blur. This frightened me. I think my eyes widen, because that’s usually happened when I’m scared.

“Sica? Are you all right?” I smiled as he called the nickname he gave me. How I wish not to lie to him but I could not make him worried. I told him I was just hungry and tired to smile despite my more aching head. He offered to buy lunch and dashed out before I could say a word. I realized I was alone when the silence hit my ear. The atmosphere always seemed dead without his carefree voice and shining smile. His shining smile, I repeated in my still throbbing head. I have to remember that smile. I never able to see it again, I remembered the first time when I saw that sun like smile. He sat beside me at the park while I focused on my sketches. We were strangers back then, taking a walk under the rain of earth colored leafs. He unexpectedly praised my work and a beam came from his smiling face. Unknowingly, my lips imitated that smile, but failed. All of a sudden my mind flashed back what I asked him last week. When I first knew about my condition, I questioned him, if I ever quit painting, what would he want me to do. He frowned at my question and put on a face I never saw on him, a very serious face. KiBum is always smiling, never in my life had I seen him so serious. He answered in an even tone, deep yet meaningful.

“Then I want you to paint something precious to you.” And so I determined to do it.