What if it wasn't only Ib and Garry that was sucked into the 'Fabricated World' what if she had an elder brother named Jesse? Will they keep their sanity, or will they be 'Forgotten'?

In the early afternoon, under a grey sky, Ib and her family were on their way to an art gallery. Exiting the vehicle were four people, each dressed in their best and well groomed for the world ahead.

"Did you remember everything, Ib? Oh! Do you have your handkerchief? You know, the one you got for your birthday? Keep it safe in your pocket, ok? Don't lose it!" their mother said. Ib, a 9 year old girl dressed in a long sleeve white shirt and red skirt. Jesse, a 17 year old tall handsome 5"11" guy had neat brushed back medium brown hair. "Jesse, I hope you kept the snacks and drinks at home."

"Ah... how did you know?" Jesse smiled warmly his red eyes shining in a loving gleam. He stood next to his father, who only shook his head smiling.

"I always know when my children are up to no good. And you better give that pendant to someone good who will give me many grandchildren!"

"Mother! Not in front of a child!" Jesse said blushing. He had found the pendant one day while walking home from school. It was a lovely gold rose on a gold thin chain, it was beautiful and made his heart skip. It would have been lovely with a butterfly landing delicately on the soft gold petals swaying gently in the breeze.

"Go put those drinks and food in the car, we'll meet you inside," their father stepped in and ushered everyone else in the building. Jesse walked back to the car and stood there for a moment than walked back. He spotted his parents at the reception desk and walked up to them.

"Oh, Jesse, so who is she?" his mother asked smiling at him. He wasn't worried about girls as much as his mother was and he knew that she expected him to be dating by now. But he just can't find anyone that can keep his attention from the canvas. Or put anyone on the canvas as his mother expected. He had painted a few girls in passing because they were interesting subjects but not enough to give them proper features.

"It just looked nice, besides, Art is my one and only love," he said it with such love and devotion but somehow the passion for painting is gone and he's only here to get inspiration. His mothers so called idea of course. He wanted to be here alone but she weaseled her words in that it would be good for Ib as well. "You know that."

"Mhm," his mother hummed as she looked at the pamphlet.

"Ha, by the way where is Ib?" Jesse said smiling adjusting the straps to his blue bag that he brought along, he still had the food and drinks as well as a first aid kit that his mother insist he carry. Those weren't the only things in his bag, he had some art supplies in it as well. His charm safely tucked on the inside of his maroon wool long trench coat pocket.

Even though he's now allowed to pick his own clothes, he couldn't get out of the habit of dressing for the occasion. But for once he's not in a dress shirt and tie like his father, it was the weekend after all. He wore dark blue jeans that is well loved (to his mother's disapproval) and a nice fitting long sleeve black shirt (also to his mother's disapproval anything too dark she disapproved of), but his mother insisted that he bring the coat. It was still a bit chilly in the spring, he liked the deep red coat with it's silk lining and mysterious pockets on the inside. It was the only thing she approved of from his outfit other than his socks and shoes.

"Oh hush! Ib, went on ahead, I told her not to cause a fuss," his mother said and gave him a glance. "Also, I'd wish you get rid of that ragged old bag."

'Ragged?! I guess it is getting old. Honestly, if it's not high end mother will disapprove no matter what. Even looks,' he sighed. He figured he should start looking around at the paintings on the first floor. He knew that his mother was overbearing at times, she loved and cared for both of them. It was just a little frustrating that she won't let him make his own decisions. It would be nice to make a decision to go here on his own.

"Oh honey, let her explore on her own, this is an exciting place for her after all. Besides, I'm sure Jesse would like to venture on his own as well without worrying about someone else that is." He heard his father's voice say, his focus was shifting on his own adventure through the gallery. He loved his father's reasoning and was getting excited to look through the gallery of his favorite artist.

"Thank you father, I'll keep an eye out for Ib, okay mother?" Jesse smiled and went through the first level of the gallery. The top floor was always a bit quiet, but he'd prefer to get the worst out of the way first. He decided to look through the sculptures first and walked down towards where he knew where a flower sculpture would be.

He noticed Ib talking with others, possibly trying to get their insight on what the art means. But knowing the people around here, they might just worry about useless things that are not about the art itself. It was just how they were.

Frustrating.

It was no wonder he can not get inspired.

He sighed and watched her walk off to the other side of the building. He turned and looked at the art, quietly keeping to himself as he reads the description. '"Embodiment of Spirit. Beautiful at a glance, but if you get to close, it will induce pain. It can only bloom in wholesome bodies." I wonder how he thought of this, would it be his grandchildren?' he thought.

The flower was red and had petals falling from it, the thorns were sharp looking and he could only guess at how it was made with care. He wondered at the words that were displayed with the sculpture. It could mean a lot of things and it was up to him to figure out what it meant for him with the little clues that were left. He always enjoyed how Guertena made it like a scavenger hunt to search within himself what the heart told him.

He started on his way to the next piece after lingering a moment longer to admire the shading and shape of the flower.

So far nothing was spiking an interest, not even the simplest thing.

The 'Lady taking the Newspaper' was funny at the least. But still, it wasn't enough for him. The only thing that came to him was 'Dog' and he didn't like painting animals. They mostly wind up like a child's painting if he attempted it and it would be embarrassing to show off after he's dead. '"Did they do it when they were just starting to paint?" a visitor would ask. "No, Jesse did this in his late teens," people would laugh for sure... I just know they will... Oh no.' his mind got the best of him when thinking of his future exhibits.

"Big Brother? Your mumbling," Ib came up beside him as he stared at the Newspaper lady. "Something about laughing if I heard correctly." He had somehow wandered up to the second floor, and seen a guy standing close to one of the paintings.

"Sorry, Ib... Just thinking of something that will ruin me. Will you teach me to properly paint animals?" Jesse asked hoping to distract himself by talking to his little sister.

"Oh, Jesse, hehe." Ib giggled and started guiding him away from the painting that caused his internal misery. Jesse started to feel better after being dragged away to the next painting. His sister was always a calming presence around him, just gentle like a soft breeze.

"I'll paint you your favorite animal, what was it again? Bunny? The one with long ears and a cute little nose and giant feet?" Jesse gently poked his sister's side to get some giggles out of her. He loved hearing her laugh and wants to keep that for as long as possible.

"Jesse!" Ib giggled again, "Be serious on this one please? Mom and Dad are counting on this to work."

"I know, Ib... It's just... so... I don't know. It feels like I don't want to do anything even though I really want to... What do I do with this? Ah! Sorry Ib. I shouldn't trouble you with these silly questions, but thank you for listening regardless. It helps... A bit... Let's look at paint dry," Jesse smiled and walked to one of the paintings. 'Bitter Fruit, huh? I'm feeling a bit peckish myself. But I don't think those are quite ripe yet.' He silently chuckled to himself.

He hated how he felt about painting at the moment. It was dreadful and horrible thinking of the monstrosity that would pop out on the canvas if he ever touched it. It was very disheartening that he can't paint with ease like his peers. They just put something together without a thought and it looks like they spent years on it perfecting it to the stroke.

He felt as if he would try and try but it wouldn't be worth it.

Everything dimmed in the real world from his imagination and it doesn't shine as well as he had hoped it would if it was out. It was like reaching out but he's trapped from wanting to keep it perfect to messing it up.

Yet he still wanted to try to prefect it.

He wanted to make it happen but he also knows that it would only pale in comparison to his thoughts. It was like the suffocation he was feeling in his lungs and heart were starting to rise to his head and drown him. The very paints he thought vibrant and colorful were dull and murky like the used water on the ground mixing with the dirt every time he tried to reach out.

This feeling he found would never leave him, it wrapped itself and rooted in his heart and stretching to his soul. Taunting him that he would never be good as he thought. He felt it squeeze him torturing him with wonderful images but causing him to mess up and ruin it in real life.

Trying to breathe in the lost hope that has long abandoned him and left him like a forgotten piece that was never meant to be finished. He started to hate it, hate that it was the best he can do and nothing can be done about it.

He hated the feeling that it was never good enough, that he wasn't good enough. Everything about his work was different how he thought it should be, it was all wrong. It had to change, it was always ruined in certain spots. He never understood how people can't see it. Can't see the flaws that were there in multitudes.

How it crushed him that people were praising trash.

Praising the wrong things.

He felt like they were doing it on purpose.

That they were talking behind his back at how bad it actually is, that they purposely avoided pointing out all the flaws that were there.

He was gently shook out of his tumbling thoughts his world crumbling around him back to reality that was. He had to hide this from his sister and parents but now he wondered how long he can hide it for. It was already difficult just trying to wade through life, he can't let them know how much he was actually struggling.

They walked the top floor, Ib didn't take noticed of most of the paintings, but the strange guy was still standing close to a picture called 'The Hanged Man', he hated people like that. 'Why do they stand so close and not move for who knows how long. How infuriating! He looked as if he just picked himself off the street as well! How shameful does he have no pride in himself? Wait, wait! Oh my god! I've turned into my mother after all! Noooooooo!'

"Brother, your doing it again," Jesse quickly shut his mouth and started towards the south wall. Ib giggled and followed along. Some of the works of art weren't on display, some were damaged, stolen, lost, or the guy just had too much art for his own good. 'This gallery is very small after all.' he thought starting to get sucked back into his own dark mind.

He wondered what his gallery would look like after he set up his collection. It probably won't be too much right now, he doubt it would be as much as the great man himself on this wall.

Would he be great?

Would anyone take his art seriously?

Who would take a no body like him into a gallery this grand?

How many people would his paintings speak to? If they spoke to them at all. Not many people here understand the greatness before them.

Who would look at his work and be inspired?

Would his future girlfriend stay beside him after all that they suffered for him to be a great artist?

Would anyone know his name? Would they even care?

He knows he's not very good at painting, nothing turns out the way he wants it no matter how hard he tries or the different styles and techniques he's used. It was of no use to even try.

Would he ruin his own paintings? He's sure that a few people have sabotaged themselves a few times no matter if the painting was good or not. But it wasn't always on purpose.

He knew that most of Guertena's works were ruined by the artist himself, because they weren't what he wanted them to look, some by a fire that was set to the poor guys house, and soon after a flood. Most of the works were missing, some suspect that he was hiding them away because they were too much, or his family was hanging on to them and won't let them get released to the world.

Whatever and where ever those pictures were, it would have been nice to see them. In earlier times Guertena had done a lot of flowers, specificity roses. From what he read, the artistic creations were stolen and or destroyed. The now famous artist was distraught about it, wanted to quit, but he reclaimed his creative value and finished his most promising piece. 'Mary', Jesse wondered how he could get over such a distressing time in his life and still accomplish such meaningful works. Although before that painting his art was darker, like something had corrupted his skills. Possessed even. Like 'The Hanged Man'.

Jesse had gone into fine arts because he liked it, and as soon as his mother heard that this exhibit was opening, she just had to tag along. He had wanted to go alone, and said so to his parents that they didn't need to bother with it, but they, or more like his mother insisted. He also had forgotten that she was anticipating this exhibit for a long time now, figured she would want an excuse to come.

He was suffering from artist block, and his mother was worried that he wouldn't get over it. The one thing he loves doing and he doesn't even know how to get over this block, like something was keeping him from doing what he loved. He wondered if Guertena had suffered the same thing, maybe it's why he painted one thing for a long while. Because he was stuck and didn't know what else to create.

He wasn't even sure if he wanted to be a painter anymore, or he didn't know what to paint, more like. His father always pushed this on him, saying that he would love an artist in the family, and he even tried to force Ib into it as well. Jesse put a stop to it, and told his little sister to do what she loved best. If she wants to be an artist, she could join him, if she wanted to do something else, he'll help.

"You'll be okay on your own, Ib?" Jesse smiled at the nine year old girl that resembled a lot like their mother. Brown long hair, red eyes while he took a bit of his father's looks, brown neat hair and his mothers red eyes.

Anyways, he wanted this chance to go on his own and look at the works himself. He hated when people were with him, it made him feel rushed, and if they complain he would just leave to satisfy their needs, rather then his own. Its just how he was, but most of the time he's alone, gives him time to think. To be trapped.

"Yes, Jesse. Try and keep quiet, this is a gallery after all," Ib told her brother and went off to look around. Jesse watched her disappear around a corner, and he started looking around himself. Their mother was so pushy about such things as keeping an eye on her, but he won't stop her from enjoying art on her own if she wanted to. He and his father were different from their mother, they believed that the best adventures were the ones you go on your own.

He was glad that his sister understood him, knew him, and he only wished to protect her from such a harsh world. He also knew that she can take care of herself, but it won't stop him from worrying about her. She is only nine, and even some things do get to her. 'Ib, you're the best,' Jesse thought and walked through the gallery, looking at each creation. Figuring out each stroke, how the artist painted it. What could be the inspiration for such an art. He read about the artist before hand, he knew all kinds of Guertena's work. He knew almost all the artistic creations, he read the history of such works of art.

Jesse walked through the first floor again, seeing the 'Abyss of the Deep' Mural at long last. It truly was scary thinking that there is something lurking deep in the oceans. Made him wonder what else lurked just under the surface of the ever rising and falling glass waves of the blue green sea of mirrors. It held such wonderful creatures, but maybe something dangerous too, even more unsafe when you are out far enough into the deep swirling waters.

Jesse frowned looking at the creature trying to eat a harmless fish. The thought gave him a beautiful image, but it wasn't what he wanted, or at least he thought it wasn't. He took out his notepad and pen, writing down the thought, once finished he tucked the book and pen away in his coat pocket. He looked back to the creature, seeing the paint reflect in the fluorescent lighting.

The blue water rose and fell each time he shifted his gaze and foot. He could almost hear the water crashing against the floor with each motion.

Rising and falling.

Rising and falling.

Rising and falling.

'Almost looks like it's real. . .'