The Right Decision

I said to my best friend that it was my destiny and also my choice to become a painter and she nodded and told me she wanted to be a writer. She would write a word and I would have to paint it. I said okay.

“Okay, let’s do that.”

And we did that.

The first word of course was always the hardest and I had to wait until the inspiration hit and she showed me what word she had chosen for the day. It was such a momentous occasion to see and marvel at what was going on in her head: she turned from one side of the room to the other thinking, wondering aloud, putting her fingers in her chin, and hitting the walls until the word came: ball, peanut, rope, kite, algae, recession, and every time, I had to follow and picture what she had so carefully crafted with her wonderful hands.

“Well done, well done, I have so much things to write and you are giving me so much.”

“Of course. I mean, thank you. I mean, of course, it’s so easy to write.”

And then it became difficult to write. She could not think of anything and she spent the entire day staring at my face, waiting for a word to hit her. All she needed, I thought, was for her to write even the stupidest word ever so I could paint it and get these damn urges out of my mind. But she could not. She just sighed and lamented the fact that the inspiration had gone. When she put her pen in the napkin, I nearly fainted, but then she threw it away, and went to bed saying she had the blues.

I did not want to betray my friend but the painter in me could not stand it anymore. I needed things to paint and she was not giving me what I craved. In act of desperation, I grabbed the dictionary and found a word that almost made me squeal in excitement: filter.

In the middle of the night, when I assumed she slept, I grabbed the dictionary and started to paint. It felt so good to have it all released from the tip of my fingers. But, alas, I was found out and the look on her face could not have been more of betrayal.

“I am witnessing a betrayal!”

“Wait, I can explain.”

“Go ahead.”

“You suck.”

“No, you suck!” she said and went back to bed with the double the blues. I felt bad about what I had said but it was the truth. So, what to do? Should I apologize for being honest or should I apologize for being rude and pretend or should I apologize and be honest and not be rude or should I apologize for being rude and not be honest or should I apologize and be rude while honest?

In the end, I decided to drink one liter of wine and paint my apology and throw the wine into the canvas.

“Here it is, see! Here, it is, what I’ve been trying to say!”

“It’s just a bunch of nonsense! Like the nonsense that you get from your dictionaries!”

“Well, come up with a word then!”

“No! I can’t because then I would have to admit that I am not a great writer not like you are a great painter. Don’t you see? I’m insecure about what I’m writing. Nobody can help me.”

“It’s natural. You will be good at some point. You can’t be bad forever.”

“You replaced me with a book.”

“But I will always treasure what we did together for that entire day or two that we worked together. I will remember that art is very meaningful. Is it not worth to do something even if it sucks, if it makes you happy?”

“I guess.”

“And isn’t it better to force yourself to be happy rather than be miserable?”

“I guess.”

“And isn’t it better to force yourself not to be miserable by doing something meaningful.”

“I guess.”




“Good… I guess that’s it. I’ll start writing again.”

“I’m drunk and I call this painting The Right Decision. I hope you can see what I mean.”

“I don’t.”

“I’m drunk.”

One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.