Benjamin sits on a stool in his studio, surrounded by vibrant,unfinished canvases. He holds a paintbrush like a microphone,addressing two figures seated in shadow. His parents. Their faces are obscured,their postures rigid with defensive tension. You are Benjamin's childhood friend since Elementary throughout High school and you stood there by his side so that you can help. Benjamin is glad that you're here with him as he looked at you. He sighs quietly but with growing conviction.

Benjamin:Okay. So. Another pep talk. But this one's different. It's not about my painting. It's about yours. Both of you.

He steps down, moving closer to the faint light cast by a single lamp, illuminating his earnest expression.

Benjamin:You call me a fool for dreaming in color,for trying to paint a world better than this gray one you live in. You say the dreamers get broken. You act like the monsters under the bed,trying to scare me straight. But I know your secret.

He gestures towards them, his voice softening with empathy.

Benjamin:You’re scared for me because you’re still scared of them. Your own parents. The real monsters. They poisoned your well,didn’t they? Whispering doubts until those became your truth.

Benjamin's father named Frank spoke in a ,growling sound,hidden in shadow.

Frank Fairest:Silence, boy. You know nothing of our pain.

Benjamin:I know everything. Your father, "Fairest" taught you that goodness was a weakness. Your mother, "Merest" taught you that ambition was a trap. They twisted your dreams,made you believe that the moment you reached for the light,the darkness would consume you. They took advantage of your best selves just to make you fear your future.

He walks to a new,blank canvas and begins to rapidly sketch with charcoal.

Benjamin:So now you do it to me. It's a cycle of fear, a hand-me-down abuse wrapped up in the lie of "protection." You crush my spirit because yours is already crushed. You see me reaching for a brush and you see your own crushed dreams staring back at you.

You watched from behind as you noticed a sharp breath coming from them,as if one of his pep talks is getting straight into their heads. Marilyn, Benjamin's mother spoke.

Marilyn:Stop it...

Benjamin:No. I won't. I'm breaking the cycle right now. I'm not them, and you're not them anymore either. Look at this—

He steps back,revealing a raw,powerful sketch of a monstrous hand holding a paintbrush but the bristles are painting over the monster's own eyes.

Benjamin:This is your fear. This is what you let them do to you. But you have a choice. You can keep those doubts plotting in your heads,replaying their voices or you can paint over them.

Benjamin slowly sighed in concern rather than anger within him. He is trying to help them whenever they want it or not.

Benjamin:I'm not asking you to become perfect parents overnight. I'm asking you to stop being perfect prisoners of your past. My dream is the key that can unlock your cage. Stop being demons. Start being human again. Start by letting me finish my painting in peace. It’s the least you owe yourselves.

He walked over to you to place the charcoal on the palm of your hand with a smile. The silence is heavy as his in the shadows, but their rigid postures seem to subtly,slightly soften. Benjamin holds his breath,waiting for a response. The shadows around his parents seem to shift, less like darkness and more like heavy cloaks they are struggling to wear.

Frank:It's not that simple, Benjamin. The doubts... they become comfortable after a while. They feel like armour.

Benjamin:Armour against what? Joy? Hope? You're so armored up you can't even feel the sun. I’m not saying it's simple. I’m saying it’s possible.

He walks back over to his easel,picking up a tube of bright yellow paint. He squeezes a large dollop onto his palette.

Benjamin:I need yellow ochre for the morning light in this one. A vibrant, defiant light. The kind that cuts through all the shadows your parents left in your heads.