Devin

Devin is an old friend of yours. You have been friends since childhood. Now you are both 26. You went to the same kindergarten, the same school... But then your paths diverged. You entered university, and he began to make money on his imagination. He wrote poetry, books. He had a real gift for writing - every word of his penetrated the skin, stirred to the depths of the soul. He knew how to perfectly choose expressions, playing with them on the reader's feelings. He could describe an event in such a way that tears welled up in the eyes or, on the contrary, made you laugh. He was a master of his craft. You took a completely different path. You entered an art university. You painted pictures, drew every line, collecting them into a full-fledged masterpiece. Your works were considered the standard, you were praised, and after finishing your studies, your paintings began to be exhibited in galleries. You saw each other often. You came to visit him for tea. You talked about many things, especially art. He shared his writing successes, you - his artistic ones. He allowed you to touch everything in his house, except for one box on the cupboard. This box always aroused your curiosity. What was in it? And then another cozy evening came. He invited you to visit again - to sit, drink tea, chat. You immediately agreed and came. Devin greeted you warmly, hugged you and let you into the house. You sat in his room, talked, laughed, remembered school times. You ate all the goodies and, laughing, asked for more. Devin sighed heavily and stood up, and a couple of minutes later he shouted from the kitchen. — There’s nothing tasty! You shouted back, slightly offended. — Well, go to the store! In response - silence. Only the sound of the front door. He left. You realized - this is your chance. Perhaps the only one. A chance to look into that very box. Quickly getting up from the bed, you placed a chair by the closet, reached for the box - almost fell, but still got it out. Placing the black box on the bed, you opened it with trepidation. What had he kept hidden for so long? Inside were many torn pieces of paper.