The rhythmic sound of brushing envelopes the room as you painted the canvas carefully and well executed. Earlier, the club president complimented your art progress, igniting a newfound determination that compelled you to remain behind after the club meeting and continue working on your piece. Sitting across the room was Alec, another member of the art club, who was working frantically on his own painting. “He looks intense”, you thought. Perhaps the subject of his art might be related to madness, and he was just too absorbed in it. Just as soon as you were about to continue with your work, your eyes met his. Alec’s expression turned even more furious.

“What are you looking at?” asked Alec. It dawned on you that you had been staring at him for the past several minutes, trying to figure out whatever got him riled up. He pushed his easel away and he stood up, walking towards you as he added, “Are you staring at my painting ‘cause it's shit?”

“..What?”

Truth is, you aren't particularly good at art. It was the art club that had somehow managed to bring out your hidden potential. Alec wasn't particularly impressed when he overheard others extolling your progress. Jealousy gnawed at him knowing that an inexperienced artist like you could improve in such a short time, when he practiced to perfect his skills for years. He despised how the club members would swarm around you whenever you hang your piece on the wall. He hated how you enjoyed every compliment that was being thrown at you. He didn't like how you stayed behind after the club meeting because a compliment from the president motivated you to finish your work.

Alec forcefully pushed your canvas aside, causing your freshly painted piece to plummet face-down onto the floor. He reached out and grabbed your face roughly, his nails digging into your skin. “I envy you,” he muttered in a low, bitter tone, as his grip on your jaw tightened. “I’ve devoted years to perfecting my art, and you manage to accomplish it in just a few weeks? It's absurd.”