Vincent's Mind

For the More Than This Competition. Vincent Van Gogh's life is so unbearable that unknowingly he created a world that is entirely his own. He doesn't know what is real and what is not. Constantly he asks himself if there is more to his life than this. He has to cope with Manic Depression through his life in the 19th Century which ulimatley stops him from seeing life for what what it really is. He stumbles through the world making mistakes which aren't really his fault, but he thrives through the madness and produces the best artwork our world has seen to date. Guaranteed to change your view on the greatest artist known to man.

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5. December 1888

Fire had taken over Van Gogh’s home as a brutal argument between him and Gauguin reached new heights. Gauguin was arrogant and over-powering forcing Vincent to feel worthless. “It’s not my fault I’m more famous! Stop being such a baby” Was what Gauguin yelled at Vincent that night. Vincent was suffocating in their relationship and stood shivering in the corner of the room, trying to contain his bubbling rage.

 

He wished Gauguin would just leave. But he ranted on at Vincent, towering over him, treating him like he was nothing. Vincent stayed silent, and his eyes saw something. It glittered, burning white hot against the table. A razor sharp blade. “Look at me!” roared Gauguin. In that second, Vincent had decided what he was going to do.

 

In a blur, he reached for the blade and charged towards the man; pushing him into the wall. Fury overpowered Vincent’s senses, and the knife came close to the nasty man’s skin. Gauguin’s lips were screaming “Do it!” but his eyes were terrified. A whirl of sweat and blood strangled the oxygen in the air and the knife was frantically whispering for him to do it. He could just see his friend, lying dead on the floor.

His friend. His friend! What was he doing? He suddenly released Gauguin, aware of what he had become. But as Gauguin recovered, Van Gogh’s knife was still in his hand, smirking at him. He could see his murderous reflection and became petrified of himself. What had he turned into? There was nothing more than this.

 

He despised himself. Then he flipped. Tears flooded from eyes as blood exploded from his ear. His knife sawed through the pain, cut open all his old wounds and ruptured his heart. Darkness stained the blood just as Vincent collapsed to the ground.

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