The Masterpiece

The Masterpiece
Every day under the Phoenix Tree, Dean the Suune painted pictures.

"That's awful pretty," the girls fawned when they saw his paintings because they were breathtaking in emotional colors.

"It's pretty rad," the boys admitted when they squinted at his work because none of them could rival Dean in ability.

"We should display it in the Art Gallery," someone suggested, but Dean declined and wouldn't part with any of his paintings.

Day after day, he would bring home his work to his mother and father. They rarely spoke to each other, much less to him, but they always had words for his paintings. It didn't matter if the only words were said was "that's nice" because in these short moments Dean remembered how to be part of a family.

Dean painted every day under the tree, surrounded by admirers when one day, he came to the Phoenix Tree, sat down, and stared up into the canopy of leaves. He did nothing that day and the next and the next day after that.

"Why don't you paint anymore?" his admirers asked.

"I can't do this anymore," Dean said.

His admirers pouted and frowned, but left Dean alone. He was a genius and how were they to know the workings of one? They let him be, going back to live their own lives because Dean wasn't creating any beauty. He sat there, listless and pale, and rarely talking.

A small, brave little Chick Reve went up to him. "What are you thinking about?"

Dean was looking at the golden red leaves of the Phoenix Tree, eyes glassy and wide. "My masterpiece," he replied.

The little Chick Reve had never seen any of Dean's paintings before and neither did she know that Dean painted. She thought he was a strange fellow nesting under the great tree and left him to his thoughts.

From then, Dean ceased to show up at the Phoenix Tree. Some inhabitants noticed the missing presence of a Suune under the tree while others noticed nothing at all. Not very many of them remembered who Dean was and what he did because it had been a very long time since he's painted anything at all.

Someone had been adventuring on the Bridge when they came across a large box. Inside were brilliantly rendered paintings, pictures filled with hopes and fears and dreams and disappointment. They brought it back to the Phoenix Tree and those that recognized the paintings cried out in surprise when they realized Dean wasn't there.

"We should go find him," his admirer's decided. "We'll find him and ask him how he's doing and return his lost paintings."

They went to his home and asked his parents if Dean was there. The only response they were able to get was "Dean never came home."

That alarmed some of Dean's admirers and a search was organized. Everyone was frantic; even those who didn't know Dean was in a frenzy because they wanted to meet such an artist that rendered such moving work. It wasn't until a small, forgettable Chick Reve spoke up that the search party decided to return to Dean's home.

"I spoke to a Suune sitting there once," she said. "He was strange and talked about his masterpiece."

"Then he must be at home," everyone thought reasonably, "for he's not here, where he always is when painting."

They returned and searched the house; above it and below it and around it. Everyone who had been yelling for Dean became quiet. The cacophony of chatter died.

They found Dean behind the house, thin and cold. He had bled the life out of his veins and used it, painting his last masterpiece onto the wall of his parents' home.