"Hmm, needs some blue," he said, dabbing at the painted clouds.
His name was Carinov and he, at twelve in the morning, had woken up with the irresistible urge to paint a mural. Four hours later, he was standing in front of a fantastical sunset, adding green shadows to the puffy clouds. It had never occurred to him that he ought to ask me, the owner of the room he had chosen to decorate.
"For god's sake, Carinov!"
"It's eco-friendly paint." He frowned as he defined a swirl. This done to his satisfaction, he continued, "No fumes to worry about. You can sleep if you want to."
"With you in the room? How about no?"
A heavy sigh. "George, you're standing in the way of a masterpiece!"
The mural was in blues and greens, clashing horribly with the orange of my room. His style was good, I would admit that much, but the subject matter was too whimsical for my taste. Carinov had put a winged ship in the sky, which, coupled with the colour scheme, would have been just on the side of bearable if not for the crew of peaches. That, I felt, was simply too much.
I told him what I thought. He laughed heartily, thumping me on the back. "A budding art critic! Don't worry, Georgie, I'll beat it out of you. That's what real friends are for. Not like your little beret wearing nitwits." He went on with a speech highlighting my friends' various bad qualities. I tuned out, pulling my blanket closer to smother a chill.
"Carinov, I'm tired. Can't you finish this later?"
"I must complete it before the fire burns out!" He began to add sweeping curls of green to the sea. "Ah, the beautiful sea! Have you ever seen it?"
"I have," I snapped, "and I don't want to talk about it."
"What's wrong, Georgie? Can't share with your beloved Carinov? Isn't my life an open book, embarrassing moments and all?"
I glared at him. Though I could call him a friend, he was by no means a beloved one. The only reason I lived with him was because he always remembered to pay his half of the bills. I suspected the comment about his 'open book' life was a joke: Carinov's past was a mystery, save for a few disjointed incidents he had mentioned. He hadn't given me any reason to tell him what had happened, but I did so anyway, wondering what he'd think.
"I met a girl--Lina. We were the only ones our age there, so we hung out a lot." Even thinking about the incident made me blush. At least Carinov wasn't facing me. "She took me to this island. It was connected to the shore at low tide, so we walked over. I fell asleep there. I woke up naked, stranded and alone with a flower shaped scar on my arm."
I had been staring at my blanket while telling the story. When I looked up, Carinov had a strange expression on his face. "Show me."
"What?"
"Show me!" he ordered. Unsure what to think, I moved the blanket to reveal my left arm. It was a curious thing, that scar, dainty and perfect on the inside of my upper arm. "Curious." Before I could say anything, he pulled off the leather jacket he always seemed to be wearing. There it was on his arm, identical in every detail. "Lina, it seems, has marked us both."
I stared. "Is this a coincidence?"
"No." I was disappointed to see that Carinov hadn't forgotten his mural. He went back to adding some finishing touches to the water. "Born at the exact same time on opposite sides of the country--no, with our birthdays, it seems highly unlikely. This feels distinctly magical." Magic? "Georgie, we may just be involved in something utterly weird."
I lay back, staring at the peach my friend had painted in the crow's nest. Weird and magical. For the first time in a while, my mind went back to that day, ten years ago, when I was marked. Who was she?