Paint it Red by Denis Vinnik

Born in the future, he was able to survive his birth.

A failed fruit of human love, full of potential if given a chance to ripen up. He was weak and his chances were slim, but he was given life by the machines. Constructed part by part, they created him - but how much of that person is left when he is made up mostly of synthetic prostheses? Still, science could not help him perceive all colours, for the brain is impenetrable even for mechanical hands. Though given life by the apparatus, God didn’t care to gift him the ability to perceive any colours other than red. He had done nothing to deserve such a fate, but it was now sealed - he would live a life, a beautiful life of suffering.

He opened his eyes sooner than the others, a weak baby unable to understand what he saw. As he got older, he began to understand the world around him. He was now conscious; the hollow shell called “child” now deserved his name - Phoenix.

Despite his flaws, he found his fascination early in life - his obsession was colours. In textures and tones of red, he saw beauty. Where people saw a grey world of technology, he saw a world rich with red.

Still, this fascination wasn’t shared by any of his teachers. It is near impossible to become a painter in a world filled with art created either by AI or by painters who had to sharpen their skills to prove themselves more worthy than machines - and given Phoenix’s predicament, no one believed in his skills. Any time he created something artistic, he saw adults’ faces turn even more red and their eyes fill with blood. The fools hated his strive for glory. However, there was one person who believed in him from the beginning - it was his father.

“Look, son,” he’d tell him. “I know it sounds corny, but believe me - you have great talent. Your path will be painful, but do not stray from it”.

His father’s wisdom filled Phoenix with determination, and so he pushed on. Red dark-tree stumps with radish red leaves, crimson skies of late evenings, raspberry bridges standing sturdy over vinous rivers – it inspired him. His flaw no longer stopped him, it now gave him life.

Sitting at his desk, he looked outside. The class had just finished, but he had nothing to do, and so he just sat there, enjoying the view of a dull city which looked beautiful to his eyes. Suddenly, a hand fell on his shoulder

“Hey red-eye, I would really love to go and have a small snack, but forgot my money. I’ll appreciate if you share some of your dough with me” the voice said.

It was the school bully who went by the name Tony Ice. Despite his character, he may have actually been Phoenix’s only friend.

“Sure, buddy. Don’t forget to return it by the end of the week.”

He would never return his money, but instead he returned favours to him. Every time Phoenix gave in to his demands, the bully’s eyes would light up with pride - it could be noticed by a change of saturation in them.

“Nice,” Tony proclaimed. “By the way, whatcha doing, red-eye? Anything new on the artistic horizon?”

“Well, nothing much,” Phoenix said, turning his sight to the window once again. “There’s this scenery I liked near South Park. If only I could leave school right now and draw it instead of creating something stupid from my head.”

That “something stupid from his head” was a drawing that would be noticed by the bully after his words. As he picked it up, he let out a short “Wow” and then continued:

“Dude, you have a talent, this shit is fire. The colours go together like… like perfectly, bro!”

It wasn’t Phoenix’s best work, but he was still flattered.

“Oh, it’s nothing” He said “You really need to see some of my better works.”

“If this is only a fraction of what you got, then we gotta get to the park this very minute”

“But what about the lesson-”

“Oh, there’s still some time. And skipping one won’t hurt anyone. Now let’s go”!

Left with no other choice, he could do nothing but obey. After a successful escape from the bathroom, they reached Phoenix’s spot in South Park. The scenery was beautiful – a hill with a boulder, standing, on which you could see the whole forest. To Phoenix, it looked even more extraordinary, a perfect symphony of red colours. Getting his pens and taking out his notebook, he began to scribble, and as the sun was starting to set, he finished his work. Showing it to Tony, a moment of silence broke out between the two of them. Soon, a single word came out of the bully’s mouth, and the word was: “Perfect”.

Many will fall in their path to glory, but only those who persist will reach the highest peaks. That evening, a Phoenix was born from the ashes that would set the world on fire.