What I meant last chapter by a reasonable length, I didn't mean this short. Well, it isn't that short compared to the length of a normal fanfic here, but it is shorter than other chapters. I actually have two plot points that I wanted to convey after Yuuki's quote, but so far I've only managed to do one. The other one would have to wait until chapter 11 or 12.

The transition between scenes and emotions is quite weird in a way. Isn't smooth in my opinion. But I got the chapter out, and it's up to you guys to evaluate if what I'm doing is good or no. But keep in mind some scenes are more metaphorical and less obvious in the meanings.

Alright, no more ramblings from me. Enjoy the chapter and stay tuned for the next chapter. A little spoiler: a new character will be joining the cast.

Chapter 10: A Change of Mindset

The sun had already risen high as a signal of a new day. These celestial rays lightened the inanimate spaces that surrounded me in an embrace. And here I sat, on a softened stool, in front of a white canvas, with a sketching pencil on my hand. My eyes closed, my breathings dimmed, allowing my mind to journey to the vast infinity of human imagination. Before my eyes weren't the canvas, the white paper, or the desk behind it. It was the epitome of a masterpiece that could never have been created with parallel success with a computer or any highly advanced mechanism. The beautiful creation that could only be constructed by the power of the human mind. The work that I would be trying to reconvey into the white sheet of paper before me

My eyes rolled up. And now I was staring at the white paper. From top to bottom I gazed, measuring the height and length of the picture. And how I could place what I had built up in my mind, piece by piece, into that paper. Believe it or not, it wasn't easy. The universe of my own imagination is vast, endless, while the canvas was limited in views. So I had to condense what was best, what was the most magnificent of it into the paper. And tread lightly, if you try to place too many details in one picture, it would look like a mess, and all artistic sense would be for nothing.

For like ten minutes, it was just staring. The external seemed dead, but the internal blossomed with activity. But then when I finished, the signal was called, and my hand moved.

At first, it was easy. But as the hand continued to rise, the strength it took to overcome the gravity became more and more extensive. By the time my hand reached the canvas, I already wanted to give in. It was like an earthquake. A local one, with the center of the shock being right inside my palm.

I instinctively gripped my wrist. My pencil moved across the canvas as if thousands of strings were attached to the wooden cylindrical body - forced and unnatural. What I intended to draw did not require that much of sketching, but by the time I finished, my hand felt just like being eaten by molds overtime, as if the roots were digging deep into my skin. Air rushed from the depths of my lungs, the traffic was a little too much to handle properly, as sweats began to form droplets on my two temples. Just as I let my grip loose, my right hand lost its power. Just like a spring when pulled beyond its limits, I could not feel the shoulder controlling my right arm anymore. My right hand was then overcome with gravity, as it fell loose like a shirt sleeve. The sketching pencil escaped my grip, as it clattered to the floor.

"Tch." My left hand held my right shoulder. I spent a moment trying to grasp my breath again. Then I bent over to grab my pencil on the floor. I reached down for it, while my back looked up at the ceiling. I reached. Further, I reached. But suddenly when I felt the four legs of the stool not touched with the floor anymore, I knew I had gone too far. My right hand, to my survival instinct, grabbed hold the easel, but the strain I had placed upon my shoulder meant that it had lost the means to hold me up. And I tumbled to the floor. The easel, after my right hand hooked onto the thing, came down after me, falling right onto my thighs.

The wooden floor felt like it was collapsing under the crushing weight of my body and the easel on top of me. Like I could go through the floor, down to the room right below me and straight to the center of the Earth. It didn't. It was just the mind going rogue. I wouldn't blame it.

I tried to push myself up, but the arms only go halfway. The other half was simply tremor. Holding breathes, grinding my vein, nothing worked. My arms barely straightened when they gave up, and my body fell back to the floor with a thud.

Air rushed out of my lung as one of my cheek glued to the deck. It was just like the day at the tutorial, and then every other day like that, when I had the brush on my hand. Same old story for over a year now, though with a slight bit more touch as each day passes. But the feeling remained the same. My palm closed, tight and shaking, though not by overdoing something that I couldn't. And every time it happened, I steered closer to say fuck it all.

But suddenly this time, something controlled my gear.

'How about doing something differently? Something you have never done before?'

The words, when I least expected it to be, reemerged to slap me right across the face, to splash me with a bucket of icy water. Though the ice this time was completely different from the last ice.

'Why am I getting this worked up for?'

I opened my eyes wide. It was easy to miss, but everything that I had been doing up to this point had been resisting my disease, or mostly shying away from it. I wasn't being normal. I was just trying to be normal. I was trying to act like nothing was wrong, that I am still a healthy human being, despite being halfway to becoming a broken puppet by now. And can I turn back? Of course not. Fate had already pushed me off the rail, and how do you think a train could return back to its original track? So why am I trying to do something that I no longer can't?

Do I want to become normal again? I could always dream. But now, the reality is as it is. Perhaps it is best if I do not treat this as an obstacle? An object to overcome? And perhaps this is also what she meant by making differences?

I looked to my left, my eyes gazing upward, to the desk. The glass did bounce the sun into me, like a bit, but I saw again. Those picture frames of the young me. Of the enthusiastic and energetic me. The old me that I could never come back to. I could hear them clatter against the wall. I really did. There were no winds or earthquake, but I could somewhat hear them. A blink though, and it vanished.

I turned around to the windows. On the branch of a tree on the other side of my apartment, a bird, I couldn't see which species, left the nest, followed by three of its smaller offspring. The only thing left to nature was the barren and desolated home made of long-dead leaves. The thing just lied there, solemnly waiting for the hands of nature to take its place and decide its fate in this world.

Perhaps it is…

Just perhaps, in a way that I had yet to discover, I could live with it. The thing that is killing me. The thing that is ripping me of everything. The thing I wanted so badly to be removed from my body, but couldn't. Just perhaps…I could live with it.

Knowing that my arms wouldn't permit me to stand up normally, I had to improvise. But how? To stand up, you are going to fight against gravity anyway, sooner or later. My only chance is to either call someone to help me or fight the gravity myself, which is nearly impossible. Who should I call then? The neighbors ought to be out for work already. My friends? Satsuki? Am I gonna call them and say come here and help me stand up, and probably with other shits that has things to do with painting? Well, Satsuki might actually be persuaded, but I didn't know if she had her shifts today. Perhaps calling wouldn't hurt. She is a nice girl after all.

"Now where is my phone?"

It's on the desk…Fuck…

I could see it from the floor, but reaching it was a different story.

I need a fucking stick or something to reach it. Not just a regular stick - it'd just push the thing further inside. It had to be something a little weird-shaped. What could that possibly be?

"Ohh."

I saw it. The fabled treasure.

Right next to the sofa was a black umbrella. One with a curved handle. Just exactly what I needed.

My nails sank onto the floor, as I crept toward the sofa. My entire legs were hugging the cold floor, with the side of my feet pushing me forward. Once the umbrella was in my reach, my hands gripped tight on it, before turning back to crawl toward my working desk. After reaching it, I turned the curved part of the handle upward and facing the desk. Lifting it with my arm, though not too high, took a lot of strength. The curved handle arched over my smartphone. Once I felt the handle touching the desk, I pulled the umbrella back like an upside-down pendulum, turning it outward. The phone was caught by the handle and fell to the floor. Or rather…my forehead.

"Arghhhh!"

The phone smashed into my forehead like a sledgehammer. I could feel like a bee just pierced through my skulls, as an intense pain shot right through my head. I dug my forehead into my arms, in hope that it would subside soon. It did, but during those seconds, the adrenaline was tightening around my neck, blocking my throat, stampeding to my chest, and fucking up my breathing routine. Wasn't pleasant, to say the least.

This is definitely gonna plague my beauty sleep for days to come.

But now that the phone was in my hand, I unlocked the screen. Going into the phonebook, I searched, sliding my screen upward, finding the S section.

"Satsuki Mihakawa…"

There she is. I clicked on her name and the phone buzzed. A few rings then suddenly a familiar tune played on my phone.

"She's a Love Live fan?"

I spoke with a brutally honest tone. A lot of people seemed to enjoy that band for some reasons. I couldn't. The moeness was somewhat unbearable. But I guess that was just preference. Who am I to judge other's cup of tea?

Though I am ok with people's taste, I wasn't at all pleased with the song rampaging through my room and my mind for a whole minute. What in the world are they even saying? Please, just pick up the call already!

"Hello. Hirano-kun?"

Finally! Her voice never sounded so angelic than before.

"Yeah, it's me." I replied over the phone's speaker, still fetishistically wide on the floor.

"How are you doing?"

"I'm alright." I said. "Listen, are you free right now?"

"Y-Yeah. What is it?" She stuttered a bit.

"Can you come over to my place for a bit?"

All of a sudden, a silence crept onto our cellphone line.

"U-Uhh. O-Of course I can! But why?" She continued on, though this time her voice sounded like a mouse squeaking.

"I…" I hesitated a bit. "I need a little bit of assistance. I'm just playing around with the brush a little bit."

Another silence, though this time was a lot shorter.

"If you mind it-" Before I could finish the sentence though

"No no! I'll be willing to help. I'll head over as soon as possible."

With that, the call concluded itself. And also that, I threw the phone to the side, as I face the ceiling. Damn, that was easy. Though she was indeed a nice person, I didn't think she'd agree to such a thing that fast, and with just a single statement.

In anyways, however, she is just on her ways. And I'm still on the floor, helpless. My eyes grew tired of the dull boring white ceiling of my house. Initially, it was just simple silence, but gradually, something broke the atmosphere. Something…nonexistent. Was it the clock on the wall nearby? I don't know, but the eternal ticking rhymed perfectly with the echoes that hounded my sentience.

"Urghhh…"

I dragged my hand to my forehead. This was what I was also facing at the moment. I honestly don't know what was banging my mind the whole time, but it had happened. And it seemed to occur only when both my mind and body were unoccupied. Usually, it happened when I was still struggling to sleep, but scenarios changed or rather expanded. The future wouldn't be at all different either. It was just the beginning.

"I can't wait for the nurses to come…"

Hurry up Satsuki. I'm not gonna take this much longer.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Half an hour later

I really wondered how I survived the onslaught of idleness, but a blessing in a form of a twenty-year-old lady with braided apricot hair finally brought me to the heavens, as a knock on the door called me back to my senses.

"Hirano-kun?" The knock was followed by a call, her volume mitigated by the barrier that is the wooden door.

"Yeah. The door's unlocked!" I yelled back.

The door slowly opened.

And before her, I still lied like a corpse usually seen in detective movies. The only difference, of course, was that I was still a living breathing human being, and I was looking at the door, to witness her golden reaction.

"Uh…hi." I said.

Me and her, the two of us stared. Seconds of silence ensued. As if her face seemed to lose colors, the purse hanging on her shoulder dropped to the ground.

"Oh God! Hirano-kun, are you alright?!"

She immediately barged into the room, the door hanging open, and rushed to my side. Going right next to my side, she crouched over, grabbing my arm and throwing it over her shoulder as she lifted me up.

"I was drawing, then I fell over, and couldn't get back up." I explained, with a higher-toned voice, intending to not make it a big deal, but I knew my singing career is toasted even before my ALS anyway.

"That's bad! How long have you been lying like this?" She asked, her eyes turning round like a puppy.

"…Before I called you…" I stopped for long before spitting it out.

"For that long?! The floor's cold you know. You could've called for neighbors or someone close by. Why me?"

She said that as she placed me sitting on my bed. After that, she lifted the stool and the easel that was lying on the floor.

"...They are busy people. I don't want to bother them long, because…" My eyes headed for the easel she just lifted up.

Seemed to notice me doing it, Satsuki looked over to the easel and the incomplete sheet of paper.

"So the reason you called me over is…" She mumbled.

"Yeah, I need your help with these stuff. I can't do it by myself." I explained. "Well, I still can, but you've seen what happened if I slipped up."

Satsuki was struck silent for a bit. She continued on later with unfocused eyes and a hand over her lips.

"But you haven't fully answered my question. Why me? You have a lot of friends, haven't you?"

"But you're the only one I knew who is willing to." I replied. "Will you?"

All of a sudden, in seconds, her cheeks went from normal pinkish white to a scarlet red. I know that sounds a little stimulating, but I couldn't lie. She quickly turned away in embarrassment.

"You are horrible, aren't you?" She meekly replied.

"Huh?"

"You know that I'm that sort of person. You know it perfectly."

I couldn't help but let out a laugh.

"Maybe I am horrible. I am a human being after all."

She didn't say a thing to it. All I could see her doing was messing around with her braids. Her head lowered. Her shoulders high. Then, she turned around slowly, her face still red but now she was able to look at me in the eyes, locked in place.

"So what can I be of help to you?"

Content, I stood up slowly, shakily.

"I need to bring this to my desk over there."

"Bring what?" She leaned her head a little bit.

"This. The canvas." I replied.

It wasn't technically a canvas though. It was more like a sheet of paper pinned on top of a wooden frame, to add surface to the drawing area.

"I can't go on with this posture. It puts too much strain on my arm." I explained as I rubbed my right shoulder.

"Oh, alright." Satsuki nodded in acknowledgment. "It is true. Though is this a little big for that desk?"

"That'd have to suffice." I said. "I've always been a man of larger appetite than other students."

"Sure." She answered with a giggle, as she grabbed onto the canvas. "Now how do I?"

"It takes a bit of force. Pull that lever sideways."

She did what I was told, though not exactly to what was expected. I couldn't blame her. She wasn't someone in the major. It'd hurt the wood in the long run, but it'd let it slide this time.

"Alright there we go." She said as she laid the sketched canvas onto my desk.

"Thanks…Hurgh!" I coughed out, my legs pushed the wooden floor below, my two arms wide as a balance tool. Once I was on my feet, I took my step forward, the trunk of my feet as tremulous as usual. But I made my way to the desk, my hand grabbing hold of the brush as soon as my butt slammed onto the chair.

"Let me get these papers off for you." Satsuki said as she carried the paper stack next to the canvas away then proceeded to place the palette in place of it. The color tubes were also nearby, so I could easily reach it for comfort.

The color mixture was just like the day of the tutorial: hard to be precise. But I managed, eventually. I purposefully picked the more simple color to go with anyway.

After whirling the brush around in the palette, I dipped into it. To the contrary of what I expected, the first swipe of the brush was rather…smooth. Not easy, to say the least, but the shake was minimal. I could barely even imagine it. My brush hand was not fighting against gravity anymore. It was now rather supported by the desk and the other hand serving as a lever support. And the first result was a masterstroke in my opinion. The color started and ended exactly where I needed it to be. Almost. There were a few spots I wasn't satisfied, but I could quickly fix that. The first step was somewhat a good start.

The subsequent ones…weren't so good, due to the complications of my drawings. But one by one, the gap in the colors were filled gradually. And it wasn't bad coloring, it just wasn't up to the old standards that I used to have.

"Hey, Satsuki." I called suddenly after finishing a touch.

"Yeah?" She asked.

"Can you help with the color mixing a bit? This one requires a little…much precision."

"Uhh, ok. I don't mind." She answered, walking over to me. "How would you want me to mix it?"

"I'll do most of the work. You just have to add exactly three drops of water into where I am mixing. Exact. Just one more and it won't be good."

"Wow, that precise?" She remarked a little slyly, though I didn't take it as a complaint. "Ok, let me…"

She crouched over my desk holding the water bottle, her cheek was just inches away from mine, as we both were staring down the coloring palette. Close, I tell you. Close. To the point that I could smell the shampoo off her shoulder-length braids.

'Focus…'

I forcibly turned my eyes over to the tube I was holding, squeezing the content out. I didn't have to care much about mine because after I reached past a certain volume, then the precision wouldn't matter too much. But Satsuki's had to be precise. Otherwise, it's not going to turn out as I wanted.

Though…why is it getting hot all of a sudden?

It's not me. I wasn't getting hot. But rather like a heater was placed right beside my cheek or something like that.

My eyes found its way back to her. And to my surprise, she was blushing just like a red-hot firetruck. Ok, I would pay it no mind, but…

"Satsuki…the bottle."

I peered down in the palette. It definitely wasn't three drops. And it definitely wasn't lower than three.

"Ah! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

She stood up quickly and stumbled backward. As for my part, I leaned back to my chair, the grin on my face formed and widened…in a rather unusual fashion. My eyes slit like two needles as words seemed to form at the back of my throat, but none came out but a salty feeling in my mouth.

"I'm really sorry. I screwed up…" She apologized, her voice slow and barely audible.

Well, nothing I could do about it. The milk was already spilled.

I slowly raised my hand, my fingers spread.

"I-"

"Things are what they are." I intersected Satsuki before she could continue. "I guess I'll try to salvage what I can."

Now that I looked at the palette, it wasn't that much that it broke the color. I could totally make do with it. I wasn't living up to my own standard for a year anyway so I shouldn't be a perfectionist.

I mixed the color in before deciding if I wanted to redo this or no…it was a little sparse, but that would do.

I went on the finish the painting in less than two hours, with the final touch being the smallest details of the trees.

Leaning back on my chair, I could finally see the finished product, for the very first time with an accomplished eye. Not as a scanner trying to cherry-pick the worst of the worst to be brought to the handkerchief, but an eye of the beholder, a farmer harvesting his fruits and a father who witnessed the birth of his own son. And to be honest, comparing to previous works I have done recently, there was something. Something noticeably different. There were thousands of expression of such that formed, but none were voiced. Was it the symbolism that the professor told me the other day? Probably no. I didn't have a single clue of what I wanted to tell in that drawing. It was only an extraction of a glimpse from my imagination. Perhaps it was just like art. Interpretation is open.

"Are you done?" Satsuki said, standing next to the kitchen entrance with a tray of tea in her hand. "Sorry if I'm intruding your house here."

"No, that's alright. I need that after a session." I replied, giving a long exhale.

Satsuki proceeded to put the tray on the desk right next to me. And each of us took a cup.

"So what do you think?" I asked.

"Huh?"

"If you are a gallery-goer, what would you think of this work?"

I said as we both turned to the canvas, now being lifted upright, leaning against the wall and on the desk. Just like how I did earlier, Satsuki looked over the drawing of mine, up, down and sideways. Occasionally, I could see a tilt of her delicate face or a soft hum of appraisal.

"It's hard to express." She said.

I wasn't gonna put this on display to the public anyway, but hearing such comments kind of make my stomach sink a little bit.

"But it sure gives off a different vibe than what I usually see."

"What you usually see?" I was curious. "Do you go to gallery often?"

"No no. Just occasionally if someone pulls me out to one." She replied. "I honestly suck at literature, so I don't normally enjoy art as you do."

"Uh-huh…"

Then what did she mean by a different vibe?

"Though I think the sky could be a little less bright than that." She continued

"And whose fault do you think is that?" I shot her the rhetorical question. Again, as if somebody inserted a spoon of salt into my mouth.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. That's my fault this happened!"

The moment the reminded comes through, she continuously bowed her head in apologies. Well, I'm really just asking for a favor. It's no big deal.

"I'll have a tutorial the day after tomorrow. I'll ask the professor to do the job for me then. This is total sabotage." I said.

"Please don't put this on me, please…"

As I continued to be a mean jerk to Satsuki, the painting I just commission solemnly stood, leaning against the wall, displaying the beauty it had. On it, a small white dove taking off from its nest, soaring to the flocks high in the sky…

Hirano did say he didn't symbolize his painting. But I DID. If you can figure it out.