He shrugged. “A day, a week, a month or two … sometimes even a year – it depends. You just have to be patient enough to wait for it.”

“That sounds like hard work.”

“Yes, it is,” he said. “More than you could ever imagine.”

I finally did understand. It’s no wonder he spent so much time with himself in here.

“Now,” he looked sharply at me, “would you like to see my recent work?”

I gasped. “Could I?”

He smiled while he touched my shoulders and turned me around. The canvas sat on a wooden tripod stand in the middle of the room with a light brown tarpaulin cloth covering it; I barely noticed it when I came in. A warm halo of light from nowhere shimmered around it. I was too nervous to approach it till he took my hand and led me towards it. My eyes never left it, even when he walked over and pulled off the tarpaulin cloth like a magician performing a trick.

My heart stopped … my brow furrowed.

There was no painting – the canvas was entirely plain and bare, like it had never been touched. I went closer to it and slowly brought out my hand to touch it. All I felt was paper. My lips fell open with confusion. I turned to look at the artist whom was sitting on the couch looking past me with sad-filled eyes.

“A lot has happened since I finished and sold my last pieces of work. For some reason I can’t recall, I had stopped seeing the worth of it all and begun questioning everything, beginning with why: why do I paint, why must I paint, and also for what reason should I. Is it for money, is it for fame … or is it for glory. A long time I searched for answers, and in the end do you want to know what I found?”

I shook my head. “Please tell me, what did you find?”

He gave me a sad smile. “Existence. That was what I found, though it wasn’t what I was looking for.” He wiped falling tears from his eyes. “In the end it’s all that matters. You wake up every morning, have a little breakfast, walk out the door to do whatever it is you’ve been doing much of your life, never wondering or caring if you’re going to see the next morning or eat your next birthday cake. After a while, the beauty starts to fade from your eyes and you begin to lose sight of everything … sight of your muse. And after its gone, all that’s left of you is an empty soul, or in my case, an empty canvas. All for a little piece of silly existence.”

“I am sorry.” I spoke softly, “does it hurt you so much?”

His eyes met mine. “Yes, it does – very much. I’ve just painted my last work … my last masterpiece. And no one will ever see it, or have it.”

I was confused. “But there’s nothing on it!”

“That’s because you haven’t opened your Third eye – look again.”

I turned to stare at the canvas again … that was when I saw the actual painting, faintly at first then suddenly it began to assume shape. The vivid colours dazzled my eyes and I smiled. “It is very beautiful.”

“You do see it. Is it really lovely?”

“Yes!” I turned back at him; my face was all smiles. “Its far prettier than your previous ones. You must keep it.”

“You’re right,” he stood up and walked over to the grocery bags on the table. “That’s exactly what I intend to.”

He tore open the grocery bags and brought out two white plastic cans. He unscrewed the caps and I caught the foul smell of gasoline. He held them wide across on his hands and began splashing them all over the table, the walls, and all over the floor. I stood there like a statue watching him go round the room, too scared to do anything. Thom meowed and scampered around haphazardly trying to get out of his way; I quickly ran over to her rescue and picked her up. His face was devoid of emotion while he did his work. He saved some remaining drops for last, which he splashed all over the canvas. The entire room now reeked of gasoline.

When the cans finally became empty he flung them across the room, dipped his hand into his jean pocket and brought out a pack of matches.

“Sir,” my voice shook with fright. “Please sir, what are you doing?”

He turned to look at me. “Tell me my young friend, what’s the use leaving it to exist when no one, not even I, deserves to own it.”