Neon, Pastel and Gray

Prologue

I stare at his works on i********:. Those sad strokes of black and gray that keeps me wondering who is the person behind these sad yet compelling paintings. He always posts at around midnight on Sundays. There are paintings about the baker on 31'st street, a girl in the flower market, and some were about those fishermen by the pier. I keep on making my own version of his works with my pastel colors but my art would never light a candle to his.

He always put the letter "N" as his signature at the bottom of each work. I gently touch my computer monitor as I try to visualize what they would feel like. Those textures and brush strokes that are screaming with loneliness. How can a person be so sad that you could feel as if their paintings are crying for help?

"Delivery for Luke!", the delivery guy shouted outside my dorm. Finally I'll have a piece of his work! I keep on tracking this painter for months. It was hard to trace his bank accounts since most of his transactions are cash on delivery in different couriers.

I immediately opened the door, took some money from my wallet and gave it to the person who brought it. I slowly remove the ribbon and cover paper to check if the painting was delivered properly.

"Thank you for...", as I was slowly raising my head to look the delivery guy in the face, I noticed his familiar gaze. Behind his face mask are the same eyes of the guy I was chasing the other night who drew that huge Mural at the Pre-school.

"It's you?", he asked. When he realized who I was, he immediately ran as fast as he could. I chased him bare-footed until he vanished in the crowd in front of the dorm. Only then when I noticed that people were staring and some girls were screaming at me. I was only wearing my white underwear.