:: Fish in Shallow Water (Part III) ::It was a dim-lit room; not very big but the furniture, though few, played a great part in making the room seem spacious. There, in the centre, stood a tall figure, covered with a large piece of cloth. A few rays of evening sun shot through the quartet of small round windows installed on the ceiling.
“Well, Issie…” Zen paused.
It was, after all, Isabelle’s birthday(Zen hadn’t mentioned anything about it since morning. Though Isabelle was a little disappointed, she was more worried about Zen’s condition throughout the day). “Here it is. There. Um… Happy Birthday,” and he pulled off the large, grey cloth off the mysterious object.
“Wow…” Isabelle stood there in awe. There, before her, was a large portrait of Isabelle herself. It was simply a work of skilled art. An exact replica, capturing the most beautiful side of her. The gentle arc in her smile, the light pinkish-red in her cheeks, the sparkle in her eyes. It was almost like the Isabelle in the painting would just come alive.
Isabelle just simply stared. It was unthinkable how much time Zen spent on it. One week? Or maybe two? All she knew was that Zen did spend time and effort doing it for her. With that thought, she flung her arms around Zen and whispered into his ear. “Thank you. How sweet of you. I thought you forgot…” then gave him a peck on the cheek. Isabelle almost could have sworn that Zen had blushed.
*~*
Things didn’t seem to end there. Zen brought her to another place.
“This is really no art I created,” said Zen as they entered an area, possibly closer to the surface then the room before. “This is the greatest art ever created,” Zen continued. “And a took a piece of for the both of us. This, is nature.”
Zen reached out for Isabelle’s hand as they walked up the gentle sloping plains of the backyards of Zen’s heart. As they reached the surface again from Zen’s underground art gallery, the last rays of evening sun sneaked away into the horizon. Suddenly, stars started emerging from their hideouts, like little flowers blossoming on the arrival of warm spring after a freezing winter. The moon looked down at them with her arced and thin smile.
There, they stared up at the heavens above.
“It’s so beautiful, Zen. Just so beautiful,” Isabelle whispered to Zen.
“So what if it’s beautiful? No use if it’s incomplete…”
“Why? What’s missing?”
“Something… Someone… I can only wait…”
“Someone? Who?”
Zen paused. “Someone who would love my art. Someone deep down in my heart. Someone I am talking to. And that someone would be you.”
Isabelle held Zen’s hand close to her heart. She gave him another peck on the cheek and whispered, “Well, you won’t have to wait anymore.”
written by MitZukin Mrvica
:: Fish in Shallow Water (Part II) ::It was simply ingenious.
Zen took nine paces from the extreme right end of the wall and stopped. He groped about the ivy hide and finally found what he was looking for. Lifting up the curtain of vines, Isabelle could see an old wooden door; one of those that looked as if it would break with just a light knock, but somehow, somewhere within, it had a sturdy and trustworthy character to it. This was just like in fairy tales, where characters have secret hideouts where they can hold secret rendezvous, or like a secret garden that was meant to be forgotten and unfound. This one looked like Zen’s secret garden, meant to be unfound and unforgotten. A secret place where he could just pour out all his emotions. And Isabelle was right. Everything that was behind the door was everything Zen had inside him. Maybe not everything, but at least then, almost.
Unlocking the door with an old metal key, Zen kicked it open. He held up the curtain of vines and invited Isabelle in.
“I hope you’ll like this place,” Zen whispered to Isabelle as she slowly walked through the door, unsure of what was to expect.
It was a marvel. Behind the ivy walls, locked and kept away from urbanisation and civilisation, was Zen’s true home, where he felt he truly belonged.
There was a small mending path, outlined by rows of pink flowers. All around were lush greenery. There were flowers of different colours, put together nicely in such a way it brought out the beauty of not only the flowers themselves, but also the whole garden. Stationed in a corner, stood a particularly prominent, dark, muscular tree. Spreading his branches over a large area of the garden, it looked as if it was guarding the land from contamination and influence of corruption. The path eventually lead to another door, one that did not exactly lead to a house or a room. Angled at a thirty degree from the ground, it was more of a trap door then a door. It had a small glass window in the middle.
Isabelle peeped in through the glass but it was far to dark inside to see anything.
“Issie? Do come in to take a look. I’ve got something I would like you to see,” smiled Zen.
Zen seemed so much happier being here, in his secret garden. It seemed as though the garden totally changed his mood and made him a happier person. It seemed just magical.
Stepping through the second door, Isabelle felt as if she was stepping into Zen; entering his soul, his heart, his space, his art. She could feel like Zen was all around her. The whole place was really Zen, and just Zen alone.
Just right after the door, was a slope downwards. Isabelle paused. She peered into the darkness, roughly able to make out a few pictures framed on the walls around her. Ahead was far too dark to be seen.
Zen shut the door behind them, dimming the corridor into totally darkness, except for a single bean shining through the small glass window. Then, Zen did the most ingenious thing; or at least to Isabelle it was. Through the darkness, he reached out a pushed a moveable panel. It was a mirror. Having it pushed into the right place, it reflected the single bean, which hit another mirror, carefully angled and positioned to catch and pass on the single ray. Within seconds, the whole corridor was illuminated.
“That’s about the brightest it gets. I can’t afford to pay for electricity,” Zen grinned at Isabelle, who was there, rooted in the spot, jaw-dropped wide. “Well Issie, this is it. This is my home.”
The light did carry pretty far down, but after a while, Zen had to light up candles to look around. All along, during the trip down the slope, Isabelle was entertained by beautiful pictures framed on the walls. Zen’s art… Everything felt so… Zen.
to be continued... written by MitZukin Mrvica
:: Fish in Shallow Water (Part I) ::Doing what you want to do,
Denying what your bidding.
Is it possibly possible?
Or is it simply forbidding.Zen put down his pen and sighed. Why is everything not going my way?
At the back of the class, Zen was rather safe from the teacher’s view. Again, like always, he was feeling horrid. Drowning. He feared what he feared most. And that would be loosing what loved and believed in most. He felt that things were simply slipping through his fingers, and there was nothing he could do about it. He hated it.
“Zen? Zen, you okay?” He felt a gentle tapping on his arm. It was Isabelle. She would be one of the few people who would actually come close to understanding him. Where everyone called him freak, she called him genius, which was in fact, true. He was a very bright boy. Fast learner. Talented in many areas. Mainly, he majored in the arts, which was the reason why people shunned him. Art freak. Crazy bugger. Spastic idiot. That’s what they called him.
Zen broke out of him blank stare.
“Uh… nothin’…” he mumbled to himself.
It was evident to Isabelle that there was something wrong with Zen. She could have guessed it but then again, assumptions are a major cause of misunderstandings. Not worth a risk.
Lessons went on and Zen continued his blank gaze at the whiteboard. There was the monotonous, hypnotizing tone form the teacher as she scribbled more incomprehensible notes on the board.
Why do I even bother…Isabelle, on the other polarity, was indeed very concerned. If Zen was not going to pay attention is class, he would have problems with his work. If she was not going to help him, who will? Bright he may be, but without any pushing him on academic areas, he would never bother. Isabelle put her aside her worries for Zen and continued listening.
Time seemed to be crawling for Zen.
1:51 pm.
5 minutes later.1:52 pm.
10 minutes later.1:54 pm
How frustrating! 40 more minutes of endless torture! He looked down at the paper again and wrote.
Fish in shallow water,
Struggling in air.
Denied the right of freedom,
Yet no one seems to care.He angled the pen at an acute angle to the table and twirled it round his fingers. Why is it that we have to follow the book? Why must everyone follow the norm, the flow? Why does the book force one into conforming to the typical and follow the stream? Why does the book deny us the right of freedom? Zen continued to scribble.
Pages I shall tear
From this resented book.
For now, all I care
Is to get off the hook.
Why should I conform? God gave me two feet for standing. Why, then, should I not stand firm on my choice? Zen wrote more.
*~*
Finally, the bell rang, signalling the end of lessons. Zen grabbed his bag and papers and dashed out of the room. Isabelle immediately knew that things were bad. She quickly scanned the room, and then rushed after him.
As she hurried round a bend, she noticed a piece of paper, abandoned on the floor. When she took a closer look, she realised that it was none other then Zen’s handwriting. A whole page of writing, probably done during the lesson.
Doing what you want to do,
Denying what your bidding.
Is it possibly possible?
Or is it simply forbidding?
Then…
Is this the book what we really want?
Is this the book we trust?
Can the book not rule us?
Or follow it we must?
So…
Pages I shall tear,
From this resented book.
For now, all I care,
Is to get off this hook.
Fish in shallow water,
Struggling in air.
Denied the right of freedom,
Yet no one seems to care.
Fish needs water,
Fish needs space.
Then just why can’t I
Get off this race?!
THE FISH IN SHALLOW WATER WRITESAt that very moment, as the last of Zen’s writing sounded in her head, she understood. She understood what Zen was feeling, being that fish, half drowning in air.
*~*
Zen was one person Isabelle knew that was so deep. The depth of his soul, the wealth within him. It was really so much. She knew what he wanted, and that it was something she could not give. Since young, the seeds of the arts were planted in him. Deep in his heart. Now, it seems to have blossomed into beautiful plants, and those plants, thirsty for the arts.
Like a plant in a desert. Without moisture, it would die.
Like the fish in shallow water. Without water, it would drown.
*~*
Isabelle stood up slowly, her eyes still fixed on the piece of paper, reading it over and over again. The meaning behind the words written. She could feel Zen through his work, through his art.
Slowly, she put down the paper and looked up. There, in front of her, was Zen, his hand outstretched. She jerked the piece of paper away from him, determined to find out what happened before returning it.
“Zen, I’m sorry, but the book cannot be torn. At least for now.”
“Issie… you don’t feel me. You’ll never understand. Can I have it back?”
“Zen I won’t if you won’t tell me. And no you cannot. At least not until you tell me what’s going on.”
“Fine keep it then. I don’t exactly need it.” and he left.
Isabelle persisted.
“Zen please. Please tell me what’s going on. I want to know. please don’t make me worry.”
Zen paused and hesitated.
“Issie come with me. Maybe it’s time someone knew.”
To be continued… written by MitZukin Mrvica