"In heaven all the interesting people are missing." - Friedrich Nietzsche

. . .

After I had mixed the paint and primer I hauled the can up the steps and set it on the plastic stand on the other side of the ladder. I dipped my wall brush with the tapered polyester filaments into the dark red paint. It was almost the same shade of blood; it wasn't black or bright red like you would see in movies. It was deeper and seemed to have more texture. I lifted the brush out of the big can of paint and began the first stroke. After that, it felt as natural as breathing; although I wouldn't recommend breathing in too deeply. The paint fumes could be powerful, and at that height… Well, I'd just say that I wouldn't want to die working on my mural.

As I came down the ladder with the paint can in one of my hands, I noticed a few people were actually watching. The museum hadn't officially been opened yet and some of the 'artifacts' were still being unloaded from a number of trucks. Masuyo hadn't unveiled what the museum was going to be about, not even to me, but I bet it was going to be very unusual. The last mural I painted on his museum was all about ritual sacrifices. It was practically from all over the world from every time span; even a few from the modern ages that were still practiced. It was really freaky, but it was strangely inspiring. In some sense, I guessed that my murals were clues to what his museum was going to be about.

The mural for that museum had an underworld guardian looking down on us from the shadows with glowing red eyes and a fanged smile. There were heads on pikes with the eyes and mouths sown shut. There was a lot of fire, blood and the decaying corpses of animals and people alike. It was certainly funny watching the peoples' reaction when they finally figured out what exactly I was painting. It was as if they had no idea that stuff like that had actually happened. They were ignorant, just like my parents.

I set the paint can down and grabbed another paint can of a different color. It was a sort of yellow-orange; the color of the guardian. With what I had in mind, the guardian was supposed to look sort of like one of the giants from the old cartoon The Hobbit. Or at least, that's what it reminded me of. Before I took a step on the ladder someone called my name.

"Hitsoku-kun!" It was that sand-haired kid's mother. She was holding her baby on her hip, to allow her to look around and at me, with the raven-haired woman next to her. She looked impassive at that moment; at least she wasn't mad.

My eyes widened and I was gaping like a fish, trying to find the right words to say. I was surprised to say the least. I walked up to them slowly and I was careful of the paint brush that was tainted with the bright paint. "Um… What are you…? Why are you here?" I finally asked. I looked from one woman to the other.

"Michi-kun told us to keep an eye on you," the mother said. "He was worried when he didn't see you this morning."

Figures, I thought. "Can you tell me his exact words?" I asked in a nonchalant tone.

The mother thought for a few seconds. "I believe he said to watch you to make sure you don't fall off the ladder and to make sure you eat."

"He apparently doesn't trust you enough," the other woman taunted lightly.

Ah crap, I thought. I blew it this time. At least it isn't Michi himself watching me.

I didn't know what to say to them. I wanted them to leave, but I didn't know how to make it sound not so rude. All I knew was that I was going to have a long talk with Michi when I got a hold of him.

"So, it's just for today?" I asked, sounding hopeful.

"No," the mother said. "He said every morning until you finish your mural."

I suddenly felt the need to strangle Michi. "Oh," I said lamely, but I smiled to hide my malevolence. "How wonderful."

"I know! We get to see you paint in person!" The mother said. She didn't catch the sarcasm, but I saw that the other one got it perfectly. She rolled her eyes at the mother and went to sit down by the fountain in front of the museum. She sat down next to the huge bag for the mother's baby. After a couple of seconds the mother followed. I understood why the mother came, but I didn't know why the other woman came. It was so unlike her, but, then again, I didn't know her too well. I went back to painting the mural, hoping that if I did, they would disappear.

During the day Masuyo came out to see the progress. He always got a little more excited when I finally started to paint and even more excited when I started to paint in the crucial details. He certainly seemed pleased this time. I pretended not to notice and kept painting. Luckily he didn't stand there long.

He walked away and I saw that he was headed towards my 'babysitters.' He must have seen me talk to them a few hours ago and decided to meet them. I could only hope that he wouldn't talk about me. That seemed like a fairly small possibility though since, to him, they seemed like my guests. I looked from the corner of my eyes and saw that the mother was giggling and blushing, and the other one was also had a mild blush. The old man had put on the charm. He always flirted and charmed the young women, but he always had a respect for them.

The raven-haired woman looked at me and I quickly went back to painting, hoping she didn't catch me looking. I was actually almost done with the basic colors for the mural. Just a few more hours and I was about done. I was sitting on the middle steps of the ladder, currently working on the rusting chains that hung on the stone dirt walls. From what the descriptions consisted of, I guessed that the museum was about prisons or the religious versions of Hell.

Masuyo came up to me as I came down the ladder. "You're lucky to have such beautiful women living in your home. Make sure you don't let young one go, neh?"

I felt my cheeks redden and my eyes widen. I chuckled half-heartily. "Sorry, I'm not that interested in a relationship right now." I hoped that he would just take it and leave it, but my hope was thrown out of the window.

Masuyo grabbed my wrist and pulled me off of the ladder. He turned and faced me to the women sitting on the marble side of the fountain down at the bottom of the concrete steps. "Look at her Hitsoku. You would be a fool to let such a beautiful raven like that go."

The woman he was speaking about looked up at me. I turned my head to the side, just wishing that he would stop. My face darkened even more. "Please let me go. She's looking."

"So? Look at her back," he said. "You are young and in your prime. These years of your life should be spent with a special woman. Now look at her and tell me if she's ugly or not. If you say that she's ugly, I'll leave you alone about women. Now look!" He jerked my head back towards her.

She was quietly chatting to the mother and looking in the fountain. Her black hair glistened in the sun and made her black eyes seem more relaxed. Her skin held more color to her cheeks than when I first noticed. Her nose wasn't too thin, nor too wide and was straight that rounded off at the end. Her thin mouth was glazed over with pink gloss. Her jaw was relaxed and rounded; something I also didn't notice until at that moment. She wore a thin, tight, turtleneck that made her neck seem longer and showed off her shapely, thin, figure. She wore black slacks that hugged her hips and flowed loosely down her legs that were crossed over at her ankles.

"She's quite a beauty, isn't she?" Masuyo quietly said behind me.

The women, noticing where we were, looked over at us. The mother smiled and waved, also waving her child's hand at us. The other woman merely looked with slightly narrowed eyes.

Masuyo waved back with his arm over my shoulder. "Tell me, Hitsoku. Is she or is she not ugly?"

This is torture! I thought. I clenched my jaws and said, "I apologize Masuyo-san, but I have to get back to my mural." I wistfully walked by him and dipped my paint brush into the reddish brown paint with a thin brush with badger filaments.

He didn't stop me nor stayed too much longer. He went back to his museum to make sure that everything was in order and that nothing was broken.

I couldn't say it out loud, especially with her looking at me and with Masuyo right behind me. "She really is beautiful," I mumbled to the starving man chained by his wrists with pile of black rats chewing on his ankles. It was the first time in a very long time since I really thought that someone else looked beautiful. Well, she was the only other woman I took time to look at. She was the second person I thought looked beautiful. I began to think of her again, for the second time today.

My painting slowed down as I was consumed by these thoughts. I wondered why she couldn't have just stayed with me. I wondered if it was just the seizures that scared her away, remembering that every time that I had forgotten her name her eyes would tear up and her voice got shaky when she told me her name. It must have broken her heart, but I was very sure that I had hurt more. I had been hurting ever since she left.

I was so determined to remember her name so I kept repeating it all during the night and all day, when no one was around, for months until it came easily. Unfortunately, she had decided to stop visiting me at the hospital a month before. She was the first to leave. I remembered the pain I felt when Michi and my other best friend came and told me. I remembered that my chest hurt and that I wanted to cry, but I didn't; I held it in. I gripped the blankets in my hands and looked down at my bare knees. My friends put their hands on my shoulders and told me that it would be okay, but I couldn't say anything. I didn't say anything unless I absolutely had to for weeks.

My seizures had acted up even more often and there was always a medical staff in my room just in case so even more of my friends left. The only reason I was out of the hospital was because I didn't want to be in the hospital anymore and I didn't want anymore of my friends to leave. The doctors were even considering to put me in a coma if my seizures acted up more often. My two closest friends brought my tripod easel, small 14" x 16" canvases and my paint supplies. I gradually got better and left the hospital almost two years ago. After a while, everyone just decided to stop seeing me. They left without a word. Maybe they thought that someday, I wouldn't just forget their names. If it wasn't for Michi, I would probably still be hoping that someone would visit.

"Hitsoku-kun?"

I snapped at attention and looked at the two women who were standing a few feet away from the white tarp that was on the ground. I had been spacing out for a couple of hours. "Yes?" I said. My voice cracked and I had to wipe my eyes.

It was the mother who spoke. The other woman was standing beside her, looking at me a little weirdly. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," I said, quickly searching for an excuse. "I-it's the paint fumes. Don't breathe in too deeply. You might want to stand back a little; you have a baby and all. Um, did you need anything?"

"Well, we were wondering if you were hungry. You haven't taken a break at all today."

"Oh, uh. I am, but I'm almost done so probably another hour or so, but if you two are, go on ahead. I'm fine." I sniffed, trying to clear my nose a little. I was wishing that they would leave soon or at least go back to the fountain.

"I think we can wait a little longer," the mother said softly.

"Yeah, sure," the other one said, a little more softly than I expected. I watched them leave as they both went back to the fountain.

I tried to shake off the depressing thoughts and hurried to finish for the day. An hour and a half later, I finished and hurried to clean everything up. I put away the ladder, put the lids on the paint, gathered, washed and hung the brushes and folded and put away the tarp. I wiped my hands with the stained cloth and met up with the women at the fountain. "I'm finished for the day," I said.

"Okay," the mother said with a smile on her face as per usual. The baby was chewing on a half frozen teething ring and patting the mother's cheek. "We need to go shopping first, do you mind?" The raven-haired one looked up from her book, waiting for when she could get up.

"Of course not," I said. "I needed to get more eggs and a few other things anyway." I was thankful that her needing to go shopping jogged my memory and that I remembered my wallet.

The mother reached for the baby bag and slung it on her shoulder. "Okay, let's go then." The other woman stood up with her.

"Do you want me to carry that for you?" I asked. "It looks a little heavy."

She looked at me and said, "Would you please? It really is heavy after a while." She giggled as she said the last few words.

I took the bag and slung it on my shoulders. It must have weighed about twenty pounds, but when I thought about it, it wasn't that surprising that it weighed that much. I guessed that I was more surprised that she carried it all the way to the museum. We arrived at the bus stop and waited for a bus. She, being the enthusiastic mother, tried to make a little conversation, but I only replied with few words. I sat in the middle of the women and I remembered my little chat with Masuyo. I did my best to not look at the younger woman, but I tried to be inconspicuous about it.

The rest of my days were going to be even more awkward than they already were.

It wasn't as if I wanted to just sit and watch a guy paint to make sure he didn't drop dead, I just didn't want to be alone in the house. The curator, Masuyo, though he insisted we call him Nobu, was a rather charming old man, but it was more than obvious he just wanted to know how we knew Hitsoku. It also became obvious that he was trying to get me and Hitsoku together. The concrete steps created an echo effect, so Satsuki and I heard every word. It was awkward for both of us, Hitsoku and I, for sure. I had to make sure Satsuki promised not to tell Shigure about this. He would have made a big deal out of nothing. Besides, Hitsoku apparently cared more about his mural.

. . .

"If you have to have your weapon, at least put it through the grandma test. Take the weapon and hit your grandma with it. If she dies or writes you out of the will, don't bring it!" - Kent Nichols and Douglas Sarine