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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2. November 1873

“Good evening, Mr Black” beamed a handsome young man. He had made the first deal of the day which had resulted in a cheap grim piece of art being sold, and even though he knew his uncle wouldn’t be happy; he didn’t care. And why should he care, when really his boss was lucky to have him. Plus he had worked harder than anyone else in the last five months, so really he was the most important man in London and should be cut some slack.

Anyway he had to get home early, it was his time today. It was the right time. Frantically locking the door, Vincent raced out of the art dealers not taking any time to notice how freezing it was, nor that it was raining. He paced on through the fuzzy fog, holding himself high and put his nose in the air. His thoughts bounced rapidly through his mind; crazy but important thoughts. How would she react? Would she demand they leave together at once, or for marriage first thing in the morning? The world was so much more than he had once believed, and really the world had been waiting for him. He was living the dream. The moon depended on this night.

Turning the last corner, he slammed straight into someone sending them both tumbling into the muddy puddles. “You stupid bitch! Mind where you are going next time, eh!” Vincent bellowed, wiping himself furiously. A young woman in a tiny ragged dress lay helpless in grime, utterly bewildered. He didn’t offer his hand to the filthy women and spat in her face.

He walked off, trembling with anger and muttering obscene words of offence under his breath. Soon he got back to his apartment which was thankfully empty. Splashing freezing cold water on his face, combing his ginger hair and changing into something more suitable, he looked in the mirror. His reflection told him that he was the most dashing and irresistible man alive and that she would never in a million years say no.

She would be home in an hour, and hopefully without her mother (his land-lady). Never normally would he cook because it was certainly the woman’s duty but he thought it was help with the serenading. Nothing more alluring than a man who oversteps the boundaries of life.

By the time the door creaked open at seven, the dining room boasted smells of haddock and herbs as well as a slight, tiny burning odour. But even Vincent didn’t notice that. Frantically fumbling, he laid the steaming plates onto the table and poured two glasses of deep crimson wine. And then he saw her. Bright wide blue eyes, silky dark hair the colour of the night and wearing a beautiful scarlet dress which was cut just above her knees.

As Vincent’s heart tumbled into his mouth, his heart raced faster than it had ever before and so did his mind. He knew they were made for each other. Stumbling slightly, he took her jacket and led her over to the table. She seemed a little surprised, but this was good. He showed her that her future husband was being spontaneous. And women love men to be spontaneous.

Eugénie didn’t say a word. Vincent took that as a sign to advance. Her hand lay on the table temptingly, screaming out to Vincent. He took the invitation. Immediately she moved her hand from his grasp, which confused him for a second. She looked down at her plate, half smiling. Did she want more? Did she want him to be bolder? He could be bold!

Taking a long sip of his red wine, he got up and walked to the other side of the table. Eugénie looked alarmed. On one knee he bent down and reached for a ruby ring out of his pocket. He took a deep breath. It was now or never. Taking her small shaking hand into his, he looked up and whispered “Eugénie Loyer, would you like the honour to marry me?”

 There was a long silence. “Vincent…” murmured Eugénie helplessly. Why wouldn’t she just give him an answer, they both knew what it would be? He sat waiting, expecting with his huge stormy eyes. “I really like you but-” she began but was interrupted by Vincent.

“Look it is a bit awkward me being your mother’s renter but we can change that, don’t worry. You and I can do anything.” He believed what he was saying, and thought Eugénie did too. Why wouldn’t she?

 

She removed her hand delicately, her pupils dilated. “Look Vincent, I-I-I’m engaged.” She whispered hardly audible. But Vincent heard. “What? You can’t be!” he shouted barely noticing how loud he was being. “To whom?” he roared, standing up.

Backing away from him, she muttered “The lodger before you.”

 

This made it worse. He was sure so that she would be his tonight. Sticky wine clung to his throat, and his hand shook furiously. Smash! His glass shattered into tiny razor teardrops against the wall. Crash! His plate broke clean in half. The chair flew across the room in an ecstasy of fury, landing with a loud bang. A tiny squeal could be heard from the corner of the room and Vincent turned to see the monster cowering like an animal. She was his prey. And he was hungry.

 

It was too late for her to try to escape because he was there baring his teeth, his hand reaching for her throat. She was shoved against the wall and as he looked down at her he pitied what he saw. Why was he so interested in her anyway? She was nothing special. He could get women ten times her. Even so, she messed with his heart and nobody got away with that. Underneath his fingers he could feel tiny bones crumbling, and watched as her face reddened. Her eyes pleaded for mercy.

 

She looked like a child; petrified. An image flooded into his mind of when he was nine and was strangled. She looked just like he had felt. Horror ran through his veins as he realised what he was doing and far too late he let go.

 

Collapsing to the floor she greedily gulped down oxygen on her hands and knees. Suddenly the door opened and in came the Landlady. Her face turned snow white and she ran over to her daughter, desperately trying to help. Vincent looked around at the broken room, and down at the shattered woman. What had he done? Reality shook him as he realised that he couldn’t stay there.

 

Randomly throwing things into his suitcase; only making sure he had his essentials. In less than a minute he was back down stairs and watched the nightmare scene for another second. She hadn’t died. Just as he reached the door, he turned away and cried “I’m so sorry Eugénie; I never meant to hurt you!” Slamming the door behind him, he was drenched immediately and walked on forwards. He didn’t look back; it was too painful.

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