"Art is desperation. It's controlling desperation of someone, who gets attracted by beautiful things."

Mike stayed silent, slid his brush slowly across a large, white canvas and disagreed in his mind. Art doesn't have to be beautiful. He had never seen a beautiful piece of art.

Never.

The landscapes, sights, models and graphic desings that people paint; they were all ugly to Mike. There was nothing beautiful in these natural things. You see things like that every day, he always said.

If art had to be beautiful, there wouldn't be any paintings, pictures, wax models or anything you consider as "a piece of art". There's no sane person on Earth who wouldn't ever think that his paintings aren't good or perfect, is there? Artists do look their work with a critical eye, but they still continue painting, even when they secretly admit that their work is not even beautiful.

If art had to be beautiful, it would be impossible to create it.

That's why it's not.

"Oh, Mr. Shinoda, I love the colours you're using in your painting. The atmosphere looks so beautiful!"

"Thanks, Mrs. Andrews", Mike gave a quick smile at his teacher, who kept walking around the class admiring her students' work.

When Mrs. Andrews was gone again, the false smile on the youngster's face dropped instantly. He placed the paintbrush on the nearest table and leaned further on his seat. Rubbing his stiffened knuckles, he glanced at his work of art critically whilst a barely visible smirk spread across his face.

It was not beautiful.

How ironic.

Not even once in his whole life had Mike admired paintings like Mona Lisa, or artists like Picasso. Not even things that the nature creates. None of these things had ever made him excited or amazed. Why, people asked. Don't you like beautiful things? They wanted to hear a thorough answer, but all they ever got was one, simple sentence; it's just not beautiful.

This theory had controlled the way Mike thought since he was a little kid. His dad had taken him to see many of the most adorable sights in the world, but never got any sounds of excitement or amazement from his firstborn. Not like Mike had been impassive or unmoved; he just couldn't see anything miraculous in the sight of Grand Canyon or, for example, in Niagara Falls. What's miraculous in a sight where there's just water pouring down to some big gulch?

The memories brought a compassionate smile to Mike's face. He didn't blame his father. The man who raised him was indeed a man, who just couldn't admit the truth.

There was no beauty in this world.

It had been seventeen years. For seventeen years Mike had been unable to find the meaning of beauty, but he didn't know how close he was to finally see it. The ugliness of his life came to an end so bluntly it was far beyond his own expectations.