off. He should have been using his free time to do something towards his acting career, but he had been spending his days off doing nothing but trying to pump life into his dead career, anyways. He was just too depressed today.
He had been going through his stuff trying to find something to amuse himself, to make himself feel better. He ended up running across his old art supplies. A familiar fondness had taken ahold of his heart, and he had decided to spend the day just drawing. So here he was at the park, sitting with his sketch pad and an array of colored pencils, determinedly sketching the scene directly in front of him.
He felt different than he had in a very long time. He felt relaxed. Comforted. Almost... happy. Capturing the beauty of the nature scene in front of him was doing something cathartic inside his soul.
He didn't sketch just that one scene. He sat there for hours, sketching one different scene after another. He didn't stop to take a break once, and he didn't want to stop.
He had been so engrossed in his work, he jumped when he heard the voice behind him. Apparently, a passerby had stopped and had been watching over Christian's shoulder for awhile.
The passerby was a young man roughly around his age. He apologized for startling him, but he couldn't help but notice the work he was doing. He told Christian that he seemed to have a great deal of talent. Christian nervously told him that he hadn't drawn or painted in years.
The young man told him that he had a true talent, and he ought to look into honing it and start promoting himself. The young man introduced himself as Tristan, an artist himself. He was a member of a group called the LA Art League that met every Tuesday and Thursday night at 5 PM. It was a good place to connect with fellow artistic types, show off one's work, get critiques for improving, and promoting their works. Tristan gave him a card and address and told him he should at least come by and check it out.
Christian left the park that day with a high in his spirit he hadn't felt in years. He didn't even think about his acting career hardly at all for the next few days. He set up an easel as soon as he got home and started painting. He was going to take it to the Art League and show it off, just to see if what Tristan said was true and he really did have talent.
He didn't feel it was that great when it was completed, but when Thursday rolled around, he took it with him and nervously showed up at the place where the Art League was supposed to meet.
There were actually a lot of people there. He felt very out of place. The amount of people there greatly exceeded those of the acting classes he had taken. It made him feel anxious, being around large groups of people did that to him. He found himself wanting to just blend in and hide, but he managed to find Tristan, and hung near him for the entire night.
He felt very nervous when he set up his painting on display. He felt so incredibly out of place, an amateur amongst all these veterans who had been painting for years and had far more talent and experience than he did. He did not feel worthy to be standing there.
To his shock, however, multiple people came up and complimented him on his painting, saying that he had a raw talent. He even got compliments from some artists who were definitely far better than he could hope to be. Some of them even gave him a few pointers on how to get better, and told him to keep practicing.
He left that night with a renewed energy. He collapsed on his bed feeling better than he had ever felt in his life. Was this it? Had he actually found his calling? Somewhere that he belonged? He could barely shut his eyes the entire night. He thought about all the things that had happened in his life to lead him up to this point. For the first time in his life, he was seriously considering giving up acting.
(13)
"Is it really worth it to keep trying?" the voice asked him once again.
"You're weak, weary, and you've lost a lot of blood. Would it not be easier just to give up the fight? Even if you make it to the top, you will be far too weak to be able to do anything against those surely lie in wait for you."
"I can't." the young man said. "I can't ever give up! Not unless I'm forced to."
"Foolish! I've only said these things because I care about you, but I can see that my words fall on deaf ears!"
"Your words are miserable! I don't want to believe them!"
"Of course you don't want to! No one would! You know, however, deep down in your soul, that the things I speak are truth, and nothing but truth! I sincerely only speak because I care about you. Ah! There are so many better things I could be doing right now than trying to waste my breath on a hopeless soul, but when I first saw you trying to ascend from the pit, my heart welled up with compassion, and I took pity upon you. I genuinely only want the best for you!"
"Even if your words are true, I would rather go through the rest of my life believing a lie than to have to face something so miserable!"
"But are you not already miserable? You are miserable because the truth is staring you right in the face! Most people go through their whole lives never understanding the truth, but you have been forced upon the truth at a very early point in your life. You cannot deny what you feel in your soul forever!"
"I don't want to believe you!"
"Oh, but you will, child, you will! They are waiting for you! I have seen it! They are waiting to devour you. I only want to save you!"
"Your salvation is death!"
"Death is the destiny of all human beings anyways! Why put yourself through a life of misery before the inevitable comes anyways? The only truly lucky human beings are those who lie six feet deep under the earth! Luckier is the baby who is stillborn, or has its brains sucked out and is never allowed to live!"
"I'm not ready to give up yet!"
"Your hope is foolishly optimistic! Although I can understand your need to live in denial. I will not trouble you any further! Just think on these things some more. Believe me when I say I only want what is best for you!"
The young man did think on these things, though he didn't want to. His soul felt so conflicted. It was all so hard. He still felt rage. He still felt a desire to be loved. He wasn't sure what he should be doing anymore.
His physical body wasn't faring much better, either.
Christian spent the whole month practicing. He barely thought about his acting career at all the entire time. He felt revitalized. New. Reborn.
He took a few of his pieces to the Art League that he felt most pleased with, and actually managed to sell two!
He didn't make a whole lot off of them, but the very fact that people were taking a genuine interest in his work, HIS work, made him feel like he was walking on air.
Once again, as time went on, he found himself lying in his bed many times thinking on the new turn of events his life had taken. He still wanted to act, but now he started to question himself why. Was he as truly passionate about it like he thought he had been? He didn't feel like it mattered to him that much anymore. Yet he still felt a strong obligation to do it.
Was it because he felt it was still the strong calling he once thought it was? Or was he still seeking something, something that he felt that acting could provide, that would fill up the deep void inside his soul?
Had art filled that void? Should he just give up on acting and never give it a second thought again? Or, should he focus on his art for now, and think about trying to do both later?
(14)
He couldn't fathom how the human body could feel so much pain and yet have the strength to get as far as he'd now come. He'd gotten back up to the point where he had fallen from. The rocks had become slippery again. He was far more cautious than before. He took it very slowly, stopping as much as he needed to in order to make sure he retained his grip.
Trying to be more cautious made his wounds and muscles throb even more. He was petrified out of his mind. He eventually was able to breathe a sigh of relief as he started to feel the rocks getting gradually less slippery as he passed that particular point. He looked up. He could see the people looking down into the pit again. There were about seven he
could make out right now, but different ones seemed to come and go. He started to subconsciously reach out towards them, but he caught himself and tried to stay focused.
"What do you think you are reaching out for?"
The young man suddenly found himself a little embarrassed and agitated. The voice was starting to become an annoyance to him. He wished it would just go away and leave him alone.
"You will never be free of your pain! Do you not remember how you ended up at the bottom of this pit in the first place?"
"I made a mistake! I will never make the same mistake again! When I make it to the exit, I'll be able to start over!"
"Another face, then? Is that what you plan? See, this is why you will never make it up there. You are still weak! You are still too susceptible to the actions of others. As long as you continue on this self-destructive course you're on, you will never make it."
"I realize where I went wrong! If I can just get one more chance, I'll show them what they need to see. They won't do the same to me as before!"
"You cannot hide your true self forever, just as you could not hide your true self before! You won't be able to put up even a new facade for long. Eventually, they will catch onto you. The pain they will inflict upon you shall be far worse than ever before."
"I have to do something! I'm almost to the top! Maybe if I don't look like myself when I climb out, they will
The Pit Page 7