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True defeat. The feeling that your efforts are wasted in the face of pure and utter talent. Not always in the sense that they are simply better than you.
They have something that you don't, something they can use to exceed you in any practice no matter how much time and effort you put into it.
Creativity.
I first came to know this feeling back in middle school.
***
Letting my fingers trace along the small bumps and cervices of the painting, a small smile spread its way through my face.
I would've been disappointed to see anything but an A on the results sheet our teacher handed out. -Not only that, I would be surprised if any of my classmates were to even come close to the perfection that my piece was.
I would find myself going around the seats, spectating the works of my fellow classmates. It stroked my ego, knowing that they were far beneath my level. I just couldn't stop grinning when I compared every last piece of theirs to mine.
That was until I took notice of a short boy, emotionlessly gazing upon the sheet posted on his desk. I hadn't checked his painting, rightfully so, considering his grade was nothing I considered noteworthy. That was until I actually saw it.
"Excuse me, can you move your arm, I want to see what you drew.", I muttered, an aching forming within the small frames of my head.
He looked up quickly, moving his arms as if uninterested in the situation, completely lost in thought perhaps.
***
'Even today, I wouldn't be able to replicate something on the level of his work back then.'
It was something I thought I'd left behind.
Merely a foul fragment of my past or not, it was reignited as I opened the door to the art club I'd joined in my new college. Because there he was: the short boy that shattered my dream all those years ago, scribbling on a canvas almost twice his size.
The club room was larger than expected, the natural light from the windows posted on the walls to my left and right allowing for an orange hue to drown the entire room. Every here and there, a member working on their own pieces, yet rarely talking to one another.
It was truly a sanctuary for any loner out there: A club without a single reason to talk to your peers.
"Hey, are you a new freshman? Aren't you cute~", a girl exclaimed. If I were to guess, she was a year above me.
My eyes stuck on the nape of the boy, I could only muster up a half-assed response. "I'm Sirius, are you the club president?", I said, barely even noticing my lips move.
I was too deeply stuck in thought for that, and how couldn't I be. The source of almost decade-long trauma was right in front of me, almost taunting me with his height that had barely changed from back then.
My thought process was shortly interrupted by the girl in front of me releasing a kettle-like screech.
Her shoulders shot up as she grabbed both of my hands. I could almost see a sparkle in her eyes, "Oh my so you are here for the club. We get members so rarely and to get beauties like you is even rarer!"
Swinging my hands around, she continued, "If you need someone to show you around or anything you can just come to me anytime, even for personal things, I'm always open for anything."
It seems that she forgot to tell me who she was in excitement. Although she looked like an average popular girl that I would usually stamp off as annoying, this one actually seemed to have quite the personality.
Before the conversation could die down in an awkward silence, I took the opportunity to ask her about the thing that had been bothering me. „Is that boy over there also in the art club?"
"Err, that guy is-", she muttered under her breath.
I could almost see her thought process, as her gleeful smile transitioned into one more akin to someone who had just been asked whether they had already gotten into a relationship while visiting their grandparents for Christmas.
„I don't know if you remember but he was the one holding the speech at the entrance ceremony. His test results were by far the best out of any first year."
She steps behind me, placing her hands on my shoulder as if to hide herself, „He has a real passion for art, I don't mean to disrespect. However,…"
‚If she's going to beat around the bush like that, I might as well just go see for myself what kind of artist he became since we last saw each other.'
I walked up to him, the girl leaning on my shoulders stumbling alongside me.
„Excuse me, can I talk to you really quickly?"
"Can I help you?" He asked, not even tilting his head or averting his eyes at any point of the interaction. It was as if I was merely background noise to him.
But I couldn't even respond, my eyes stuck on the canvas.
I was already prepared to marvel at his drawings but it was something so much different from what I had expected, that I was stuck in a trance.
The beautiful curves, the beautifully recognizable marks that just screamed originality, the absurdity, all of it just came crashing down: He was drawing porn.
Letting out a shocked huff, the girl covered my eyes and continued by scolding him, „I told you this would happen, Marin. Look, because of you, this beauty of a freshman is now tainted! Do you really still insist on drawing those sort of pictures?"
I could hardly make out from between her soft fingers, yet the boy, Marin, seemed to not mind her scolding.
His brush slowly coming to an elegant halt, his fair blue hair danced in the light of the open window, as his head turned in a boorish motion.
It was as if my hand moved on its own, grabbing the hands covering my eyes, as I moved the single fingers away. Her hand still on my cheek, I could see Marin fully now.
Watching his drowsy eyes flowing across the room, his oversized red cardigan and blue collar, indicating that he was a freshman as well, I came to a single conclusion.
It was unfair.
Their words turned muted as the world around me turned grey and lifeless.
„Marin."
His eyes regained Color as his gaze met mine.
„Could I ever dream of painting the way you do? The way I am now?"
I let it out unconsciously, regretting my words directly after letting them loose, yet I was interested in his answer. Perhaps that was the reason why I could never beat him.
My ears twitched as his lips opened, a ringing in my ears almost announcing his reply, „You want to draw porn too?"
„Are we seriously still hung up on that part?!", I exclaimed, my ears heating up.
Regaining my senses, I could feel the slender arms fall from my cheek to my shoulders again, the noisy girl behind me going back to teasing me.
But my eyes fell back again into his calm gaze, „I think I could answer your question more precisely if I could see your drawings. You're joining the club, aren't you? Let me spectate your work next time."
Continuing, he dipped his brush in paint once again, „My name is Marin by the way."
‚I know. We spent three years in the same class back in middle school.'
Perhaps he had forgotten.
***
It was already sunset as club activities were closed for the day. The school was eerily empty, especially unsettling considering the fact that it was only my second day here.
The building of the school was divided into three sections:
the main building, reminiscing of a square, that had not only the lockers and official entrance, but also a plaza in the middle where events were held every now and then.
Although there were also classrooms in the main building, most of the classes took place in the secondary one, that was accessible by either a bridge on the roof or a smaller entrance on its side, which inhibited basically only classrooms.
I'm guessing I won't have to explain what the third building, the gym, is for.
The art club was actually held in an outlying section of the main buildings top floor, making the walk back to the entrance an excruciating walk down four sets of stairs.
The echo in the halls as my soles met the floor were oddly relaxing though.
I was grabbing my shoes from the lockers, about to leave, when a pair of hands suddenly crept up behind me.
Before I could even react, a viscous attack on my belly was started.
Breaking out in an uncontrollable laughter, I was left defenseless as tears streamed down my cheeks.
‚This is it, this is how I'm going to die.'
I was almost able to see my ancestors from across the river as the tickling suddenly stopped, the girl from the art club springing up in front of me with a cheeky grin plastered on her face.
„Sirius, are you going home? How about I join you?", she said calmly, ignoring the traumatizing display I was just subjected to.
„I don't know, Hotaru, you seem like the type to drag me into a dark corner and assault me while nobody's looking.", I could only honestly admit.
„Do I really seem that untrustworthy to you?", she asked, her expression turning grim as she gripped her chest in exaggeration.
Though she quickly changed her tone, curling her hand into a fist, „Don't worry, that first year's about to finish up too. He lives in the same direction as you do."
I was almost surprised at how she knew where we each lived.
A resounding echo slowly approaching the exit, the light blue tint in my vision slowly made its way over, walking past the two of us. Well, that's what he tried to do, yet his collar was already grabbed by Hotaru.
I let out an awkward laughter, but it was hard to hide the fact that I wanted to be left alone for a while. The walk home had always been sacred to me, a time for me to reflect and think about all sorts of things.
Especially after all those things I said to Marin. Things I wish I hadn't said, rather.
Once again, tracking his wandering pupil, it met mine.
„Sirius, wanna walk home together then?", he asked, having already given up on convincing Hotaru to let him go.
Honestly, it was weird. I basically only started talking to them since today and yet I already felt like I'd known them for years.
Perhaps I had gone without friends for too long. Is this what friendship meant, then?
Before I could realize it, I had gone into deep thought again, leading the both of them to look at me in anticipation.
‚Shit, I forgot what they said.'
„Let's go home?!", I spewed awkwardly.
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[END OF CHAPTER ILLUSTRATION - Uniform design/Sirius art]
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