Paint Of Life

• Robert Snelling, Grade 10
• Short Story
• 2011

The darkness is something I am not be able to cherish. The inability to know the unknown chilled me. Looking at the orange pigments, splattered across the sky, blood spilt, I remarked. Cambodia was a place of happiness, but that painting had long been torn apart. The streets, filled with terror of a type of villain more despicable than even the most devious comic book character. Pol Pot. Pots and pans, or pans for short as we called them. Maly, Jorani and Chenda and I spent several hours discussing the pans. Maly was always on top of the news, retelling what she had heard from older students. “Supposedly Botum said that a quarter of the Cambodian people ‘been killed’.” None of us of course believed this, or wanted to. “Does that mean, Maly, that one of us is going to be killed, statistically that is.” We initially believed this wasn’t possible, yet somewhere deep down, lurking like an eel in the deepest depths of the sea, we knew that this was possible.

The end of the day, I believed, was bittersweet, the beautiful colours contrasting with the fear of darkness at night. Jorani always told me that I would have to face that fear someday soon, she could feel it as she often stated. She often sensed the future, like psychics in the streets foretelling the future. In some ways I wished I had used my opportunity to see one of them. Of course, night would always be round the corner, and I never would want to experience that darkness. I wish I could break that fear, achieve something inside me. The Buddhist school always taught us to be a sacrifice, no matter how insignificant or unseen the deed may be, as it would be visible to the gods. For the first noble truth stated that life ultimately lead to suffering.

The darkness. The screams. A fear beyond what any being could suffer. The chill of warm blood splattered across my cloak, like the sunset that ends my day of happiness. The pans were at work in the school. Everywhere the screams echoed, hidden amongst the darkness. It was around me, torturing me for amusement. Standing in font of me was a cupboard, darkness eating the space to leave a chasm of emptiness. I could not think of a worse place to hide. I slipped in to find Chenda, screaming in shock I was alive. I gaffed her mouth, stood terrified and gently closed the door in fear. The pans, slowly wandered, taking each pace more slowly than the other. Terror surrounded me for I knew that they had heard her heartbreaking scream. Nearing closer, the light visible from the cupboard was non-existent. My mind painted the world as scaffold of fear so I knew that there was a need to act, no need to stay. Darkness was already consuming me. My light of life would be from selflessness to save Chenda I decided. So I opened the cupboard.