I live in a world of new ideas, a world of growing anxiety, a world of individuality, a world of madness and that madness has slowly infected me. I notice the dark shadow of insanity when I am walking with my ever-supportive brother. We are talking about the news of the day, not the growing conflict between the countries Austria and Serbia, and Germany and Russia. I could care less about that. We talk about the new art movement, Impressionism. Theo is constantly jibing at me and mocking me, but I usually blow the insults off. Today he is asking me why I don't like impression because it's abnormality suits me. I'm sick of the constant mockery. I lash out at the only person I'm close with. Theo looks hurt but I have stopped caring and I tell him that I will be heading to the church alone. Overdramatic or not I am not in the mood to pretend at normalcy. Another sign of my inner darkness. I head towards my safe haven. The church is a small quaint building, but what makes it so extraordinary is the view. My father always laughs at the fact that instead of making polite conversation; I walk into a home searching for views. When I find the best view I stare at a small slice of the world. I find this world we live in awful and dreadful but when I see a good view it seems that hope is possible. Hope comes in lots of forms: communism, idealized equality, the women's suffrage movement, the new scientific discoveries, and more. Sometimes I feel like I have no hope. I lack the only thing humanity should never lose. The last thing in Pandora's box; my box is empty. As I look outside the window my fingers trace the outline of the tree and the moist dew seeps into my fingers. My breath the only source of movement. I whisper like the wind, a slight breeze,
"hope", and then like a clap of thunder interrupting my serenity


"No actually my name is Star".
I whirl around. My absolute concentration has left me completely unaware of my surroundings. Now out of my trance, I see a girl with dark as night hair and eyes like the glowing orbs that sparkle in the sky. I realize I am strikingly out of my element never having spoken to people outside of my family and my neighbor Mr. Fry. She asks me if I am okay because the silence and tension is making her ill at ease. After some time my missing instincts appear and I explain that I am fine, but my primitive extincts do not include manners and I bluntly ask why she is here. My possessive attitude sparks her feminist spirit and she inquires why I have ownership of this public building. I explain that my father is the minister and I frequently come here because of the view. It seems as though we are connecting- impossible. The once stagnant dust swirls around us causing the musty smell to make her nose twitch in a way that makes me smile. This small twitch of my mouth seems to encourage her which leads to introductions myself as Vincent and her as Eugenia but she tells me to call her Star. She seems to believe that this is transforming into a real conversation. She tells me that she has no friends yet because she is new and has just moved from Paris. While I am dreaming of life in Paris, the life I've always wanted, she stands awaiting a response. I inform her that I do not have any friends either despite living here my whole life. She leaves on this awkward note, but as a final comment I tell her that I was thinking about hope. I head towards home feeling star struck.
I walk home; the constant feeling of emptiness has lessened. A new feeling replaces it, confusion, or could it possibly be happiness. I smile at Theo when I get home and he almost passes out from shock. I have a similar experience when I see her at the church the next day. For inexplicable reasons we become friends, the first friend I have ever had. We talk, listen, and most surprisingly we laugh. Theo notices the drastic change in me. He believes me to be infected with a virus and demands to know what has gotten into me. All I tell him is that I finally know what hope is. I leave him befuddled. One day she does not show up and like a twig under the footfall of soldiers I snap. A tornado of rage that knows no boundaries. The next view I have is outside my asylum window. Ashamed and lonely I recede into my hermit shell. Looking outside my window, brooding, I hear

"thinking about hope again? All this thinking might drive you insane".


She's standing in my doorway interrupting my goal of forgetting her. She attempts to make small talk while I attempt to get her to leave. Neither of us is successful. She drops off paints telling me they are from my neighbor Mr. Fry. She departs addressing me as Vinny, but with a glare from me she changes it to Vincent. After some time, Mr. Fry also comes to visit and throws me the life preserver of art.
"I saw a painting the other day. Different from Impressionism and classical art it reminded me of you" He had me hooked, he was one skilled fisherman. "Oh my young friend the painting's depth had no limits, it had such an individualized surge of emotion expressed in passionate colors and powerful brushwork!" When the nurse comes and tells him it is time to leave I am awoken from a trance. Mr. Fry is an artist with his words. He stands in the doorway looking at me with understanding and a hint of pity. He begins to sympathize with the depression that has inhibited me from painting, but the next thing he says inhibits me from speaking. He tells me that Star bought the paints with money she has saved up. The tidal wave of emotion is overwhelming and Mr. Fry explains that the unnamable feeling is called of confusion.

When she comes back I tell her that I want to be her friend, but I do not know how. For the first time ever she is at a loss for words. She promises that she will always be my friend. She then exits and does not return for three days. I don't know a lot about friendship but I'm not sure its supposed to be this confusing. Every night since then we sit and look out the window and talk about anything and everything and one night she says

"I was looking at a tree and then I rubbed my eyes and it was no longer a tree it was magical, and other worldly. Try it!" I look at her as if she needs to be in the asylum too, but I try it. I rub my eyes then look and the blurry image that my eyes behold is a scene of indescribable beauty. The stars are great swirls and the sky looks like rolling waves, and all the defined shapes now seemed fluid and magical.

"Your a great artist Vinny you have the power to be the bridge that stops the alienation between man and nature. We are in an era of change, an era of individualism, I might sound crazy but crazy things are true just look at Darwin, Freud, Nietzsche, the world is prepping for war. The world is prepping for change." When she leaves later and, I wonder, am I changing?

I'm going to visit Star in the village today. I'm extremely nervous, no not nervous, but excited. As I walk past the cobbler I hear her voice "I used to go to church there" I stopped momentarily stunned used to? Then a husky deep voice speaks

"That trash heap, it's so dirty and dingy and the preacher is a freak. The whole family is but that one son, the one in the asylum, they say he's a real lunatic." I hope she defends me but hope is a flimsy horrible thing

"Yeah, he is a bit queer"
He guffaws "what an understatement he makes Darwin look sane" This doesn't make sense to me Star idolizes Darwin, but when I get a look at his face it becomes perfectly clear. He is handsome. They turn to walk away but she turns her head and sees me just seconds before I turn and sprint for the madhouse, the place she thinks I belong. She told me she cared about me, she told me we were friends. She lied. I crash through my doorway anger clouding my vision. I wrap my shaking hands around the portrait I had been painting of her, I tear it like she tore my heart. I grasp the paints and with the passion Mr. Fry described I paint, swirl, stroke, slash, sweat, and cry. Passion and emotion, memory and heartache guide my trembling hands. Tragedy, anger, sadness, I pour out my hurt, my heart, on the canvas. I do not even realize until I am done that I have painted a portrait of everything she taught to me. I painted the view, our view, my view. I wonder to myself how artists painted so similarly because painting is passion and passion is personal. I call it Starry Night.

"Vinny wait" He turns around and speaks so calmly it hurts worst then shouts
"do not call me that. Friends have nicknames, you are not my friend you are nothing to me" I see the hurt on his face. I hate him for hearing me when I was wrapped up in William's looks, but I hate myself more for hurting him, my Vinny, now no one's Vincent. He turns to me a blank haunted look in his eyes " Good bye Star I will try to forget you. I will rub my eyes and you will be blurred from my memory, but when I close my eyes I will be haunted forever" I feel so overwhelmed with hurt not for me but for the boy who I broke my promise to "I will always be your friend".

I walk through the streets William has the children at my parent's house. I left the house not being able to be among the happiness while sad memories resurged. After ten years my life has moved on I'm married with kids and a job, but internally I have not moved on. I'm back at the church where I learned about hope. I go to our window, and I am so stunned by what I see, a huge painting of something so different but so familiar. I see a note laying beside it and by a force I can only describe as fate drives me to pick it up and it reads: To Starling James. It angers me that he knows I married William because even after the passage of time I know this handwriting. I then feel guilty and ashamed. I read the note that says "I no longer hear the sound of hope." I open the envelope and see that Vinny will never hear anything again.