Throughout the following day, he worked on his painting, almost finishing  it by mid-day. He went for a swim and caught some fishes for his lunch. He then, added the finishing-touches to his perfect painting while he had lunch, food and paint scrubbed on his face.

                    He had never before finished a painting in such a short amount of time; two days was just astonishingly quick, even for him. Maybe it was the buried urge acting upon his skills, or the long hours of full concentration. Nevertheless, he was in heaven. He was happy, filled with hopes and joy, drowning in dreams.

                      When he looked at his painting, his chest swelled with pride and the worry lines dispelled from his face, as if they weren't there at the first place; his face was glowing, lit up with a new brightness and a huge smile. His eyes gleamed, dreams and hopes dancing amidst his dark irises.

                He spent the rest of the day, lounging on the beach, longing for this life to last. He couldn't help but glow with pride and power; even imagining the envious looks of everyone when he returned had him smirking. He felt invincible. He felt like he was enough.

                 That evening he set up his work again, deciding to work on the night sky. Marcello Dawson had always loved the night sky. From when he was a child, he adored the sky. When he was little, he thought that the Old Lady living in the Moon weaved silver threads, creating stars and galaxies. He thought that the soft clouds were just beds for all the glittering fairies that shone like fairy dust in the sky. The fairies were the stars, shining, glimmering to light up the world.

                   As he grew up, the stars were like tiny jewels, decorating the sky. It was like the tiny stones adorning his sister's ponytails. The stars were like emeralds and rubies and diamonds and sapphires, garnishing the endless heavens. 

                   But as he stepped into adulthood, he knew exactly what the sky,stars and galaxies meant. The sky was a mystery just like our minds, threaded with simplicity that we turned into complications. The stars were dreams, hopes and wishes. The secrets we hide, the mysteries yet to unravel. He saw the star in the sky not as something unreachable  but as a planet he would visit one day.

                     He lit the candle, squinting his eyes at the darkness, starting to paint. He painted, hours flying by like mere seconds. The wind rose but he no longer cared, he only cared about the painting. When the winds took up pace, he didn't notice that its really fast, gushing past. At one point, his supplies were starting to be blown away, and that is when he realized that it was time to go inside. The wind was so rough that it had taken all his supplies with it.The tides were higher, dangerously high.

                     He knew it was too late to go after his supplies thus he clutched the painting to his chest and ran inside the shelter of the hut. He had seeked out for protection but he could feel his home breaking down, falling apart. The curtains of over growths and leaves were torn away. Some logs of foundation broken to their roots. The world around him was being washed away as he stood at the corner, shivering, clutching his last segments of survival.

                     It is said that pride is a destructive thing; it can ruin you. The Marcello Dawson of the same afternoon who thought he was the most powerful and talented person, a mere human being who thought himself to be invincible now learnt how wrong he was. The Almighty who had given him all that he had, had taken away everything from him, leaving him helpless and a "Nothing".

(PS. Heyy,This was an early update for you guys. I hope you guys like my effort. Vote and Comment!!)