After a while, I noticed a host of health issues. I'd be unable to sleep due to the pain and would vomit for no apparent reason. My hair was falling out in clumps and large bruises appeared all over my body. I thought it was the aftereffects of childhood beatings and didn't take it seriously.
Until one day, while out sketching, I fainted on the side of the road. After being taken to the hospital by a passerby, I learned that I had cancer.
The doctor took one look at my collar, which had been washed white and sighed softly, "Stomach cancer, late stage. If you have money, you can try conservative treatment. If not... treatment isn't very meaningful."
By then, Sheryl had already achieved some success. She had plenty of money, enough to keep me alive. But after much hesitation, I finally deleted her number instead.
In the studio, I painted this final painting. I didn't want to bow to her, didn't want to admit defeat. I've become accustomed to loneliness my whole life. No family, no friends.
I came naked, I leave naked. Not causing trouble for anyone, that's all that matters.
At this point, my voice echoed through the videotape.
"Sheryl, when you see this videotape, it means I'm gone. These paintings are my final gift to you. Actually, there's something else at the bottom of my paint box. It's a secret and only you can get it."
Sheryl was silent for a long time. Suddenly, she stood up and stumbled towards my bedroom.
Along the way, she knocked over my dried paint. She knocked over my set easel. But when she actually opened the paint box, she froze in her tracks.
