Because Red is Beautiful

On a journey to her Paris dream, Katie meets a man she falls in love within three hours. But as they separate, Katie realizes it's foolish of her to think she has fallen in love with a complete stranger.
She tries to forget about him and soon she becomes a famous artist in her dream city. Her passion made her known but her curiosity for the stranger in the train always showed in her work.

Two years later, they meet again. But what would Katie do if she finds out that the stranger she met on the train is no longer available?

The story is about struggles in life, dreams coming true and falling apart, romantic tragedies and new discoveries about one's self.

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2. An Instruction (1)

An Instruction (1)

 

Was the foreword too sad? It gets worse. Kidding. -Katherine.

•••

I WAS IN GRAN'S ARMS AS I TOLD HER UNCONSCIOUSLY ABOUT MY TRIPS TO THE ART MUSEUM WITH MAMMA. SHE WAS SMILING DOWN AT ME AS I MUMBLED...

 

"We liked how cold it was in there and how seldom people sit on the couches. It was fun walking around and pointing at those works of art."

"I bet it was." She says.

"Van Gogh was my favorite. Still is. He was like a genius and I don't know why I think that. Mamma said that she was in love with Picasso and she didn't know why either up until she met Papa."

Gran grinned. "I heard that story."

I couldn't help but put on a little smile. "Hmm...every time we come to those museums, I couldn't help but take notes and recognize the artists' strokes and styles. They were all so good. Mamma wanted me to take in the beauty as she did."

"Your Mamma was a great artist herself. She just didn't realize it till she lost this beautiful red elephant painting she worked on when she gave birth to you. She always thought she didn't want to be a painter anymore but when you started loving what she loved, she knew that giving up her passion was a big mistake."

I grimaced at the thought. And then I made my vows never to give up on my dream; on Mamma's dream. I would be a famous artist. She will be proud of me. I intend to make her so.

 

 •

 

My paintings blurred together as did the months of endless grief and desperation. I used my colours wisely and my subjects to an extent I had to do things I've never done before.

By the time my grandparents wanted to get me home, I done exactly twenty-seven canvases justice. 

"Your house in Washington probably needs cleaning." Grandpa says as he hands me a bag. "We want you to stay, dear but you really have to get home."

I sighed. "Home is where Mamma is. I don't know where that is now."

"Leave her alone now," Gran murmurs and Grandpa leaves my room without another word. "We do want you to stay, Katie. But unfortunately, your house back in America is unattended. If you want, you could get your things there and send it here and fly back. But for now, we want you to go home. Eight months is long enough to make your neighbours worry."

"I can't go home. And besides, Aunt B is taking care of the house."

"For eight months...?" She questions me and I suddenly thought about it. "I do not think so." She says and I sighed again. 

"But Gran, I really don't want to go home. I can't. It's too much coming home to an empty house full of memories you can't bear to keep anymore."

 

"Katie."

 

"I'm getting out of your hands, alright. But I want you to know that I'm not coming home to Washington. I'm not going back there."

"So where would you go?"

I shrugged and had no actual thought on the subject. "I'm going to think about it."

She gave me a look of surrender and held my hand for a moment. "Get some sleep. We'll talk in the morning." And she walked to the door, shut it tight and silence fell on the room.

I sat on my bed and pulled out my mom's favorite book. It was Bukowski. 

I remember a line she recited to me on a night like any other; some people never go crazy. What truly horrible lives they must live. Now it isn't wrong she told me this because I was already fifteen at the time and I was looking for a good read.

What I liked about Bukowski is that he was so straight forward and I found him too honest, it was funny. 

 

"The difference between ART and LIFE is that ART is more BEARABLE." -Charles Bukowski.

 

It is true. What he said; art is more bearable. I kept that phrase with me for six years. I lost myself in a trance but snapped out of it when I flipped a page and a red envelope fell out. I picked it up quickly and stared at the handwriting.

Mamma.

The front says Katie and then pieces of the puzzle clicks into place. She was always writing something. When she lied on the same bed as I am on now, dying, she never ran out of papers to write on.

Maybe now I get to find out exactly what she's written.

I opened it with newly found hope and wished she said something that could pull me out of my misery.

 

Paris. It says on the first line. Get a train to Paris. 

 

Mamma always knew I loved Paris. It was my City. It was my dream. I kept on reading.

 

The stop on Mannheim will be tricky. You have to find Bruno. He works in the station. Just tell him your name and he would give you something. Something to get you through to Paris. Don't open it until I say so. Quickly get back on the train. It's important you keep right on schedule. Your journey begins true if you start out correct and efficient. 

Second, when you reach Gare de l'Est, look for Tia Lucile. She would give you a place to stay and some clothes. In the apartment, you will find another letter. Be safe, Katie.

I love you. -Mamma

P.S I'm trusting you do exactly as I say.

 

I nodded to the letter as if she'd see my response and knew what I had to do. Before morning, before anyone wakes up...I had to get out and catch a train to Paris.

 

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