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.


1. October 1862

A single tear bled onto the decayed grave; memory rotting it away. Inked on the stone was a single sentence which gave no justice for what had been lost. Unfair was the world of 19th century. Greif tore apart the small boy sitting besides his dead brother. Ablaze ginger hair fell softly into his damp stormy eyes, shadowing his trembling features. Eight years to that day, his older brother was born lifeless and bore the same name as the one who sat before his grave.

 Melancholy suffocated Vincent’s mind; at the age of just nine he felt sadness like any other. A ghostly smothering sense of loneliness seemed to penetrate the very soul of Vincent and made him question life. He looked across at all those foreboding graves and thought to himself is this really it? Is there more than this? Or are we simply born to die, and the mess in-between is insignificant?

Around him the graveyard wasn’t right. Darkness drained the air and painfully whispering wind sent a tsunami of shivers through him. Trepid thunder eyes sparkled from afar. Vincent blinked. They were right next to him, shining with fear and dancing with anger. It was almost like looking in a mirror. Quaking, he jumped backwards tripping over something.

Just a root of a tree, nothing more. He tried to stand but was tripped by the same root. It gripped around his ankle pulling him back into the crunching leaves and was forced into the mesh of bones. Pinning him down, a crimson arm grabbed his neck and started to cut off his oxygen causing him to begin thrashing violently; his face rapidly reddening. Looking down at him were eyes identical to his and he saw his own brother strangling him. His eyesight blurred to scarlet smudges as his life burned angrily to cinders.

No matter how much the tiny boy struggled and kicked he remained locked in the deathly grasp. Was he born to die like this? The last flicker of hope faded. He stopped struggling.

From the distant many high pitched voices swirled about in the wind and in a matter of seconds they screamed disturbingly near. Shaken violently was Vincent and he stirred quietly. Not dead? In his mind Vincent could see a soft blur of amber light and it got brighter by the second, until he was hit with the full sparkle when he opened his eyes. His throat felt entirely fine, not at all like it had been crushed and no longer was he trapped in the tree’s grasp. Shaking his head slowly, the children before him came into his focus. Anna, Wil and Elizabeth surrounded him looking worried.

Vincent couldn’t figure out why the world wasn’t dark and why he hadn’t died. It didn’t make sense. Anna asked “Are you all right Vincent?” Concern shone through her rosy cheeks and for a moment Vincent thought what he must look like to his sister. Deranged probably. “Just having a nap, don’t worry” was all he said because that was the only lie that came to mind.

“Well Mother said lunch is ready, so you better come quickly” said Elizabeth hurriedly. With a small second glance, they dashed off. Bewildered, Vincent stood up; shaken. That was the second time something unexplainable had happened. He reassured himself that he was just having a nightmare like he did before, but the lie didn’t hide the fear he felt. Perhaps this mess in between being born and dying was messier than he had anticipated.

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