The Tragedy of My Masterpiece

By Tyrell Simon

What happens when a college student in his final semester has a premature midlife crisis when he realizes he has lived a life of all work and no play? Following a trusted professor’s advice, studious college senior Ky Cooper tries to let loose and enjoy his last weeks of school, but his efforts are complicated by his internal struggles with mental health, unresolved trauma, and faith, resulting in dire, unforeseen consequences.

The cynical but tolerant Ky draws up a meticulous world where the path least chosen reigns. It’s a place where the reserved character seems to dwell trouble-free. Crossing swords with the idea of abandoning his behavioral medication for religious purposes to appease others, Ky’s experience is a showcase of a young person trying to do their best.

The Tragedy of My Masterpiece is a dark tale which snapshots what modern-day college life is like for the loneliest popular generation of all time. Embark on a difficult journey wherein the demons of solitude, lust, and manipulation are confronted through the perspective of a young adult trying to slow the process of his unraveling perception of reality. Sift through alluring imagery and ravishing aesthetics while ingesting the raw and unhinged exchanges of these college-aged characters.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Oct 18, 2022
• ISBN: 9781665728485

Tyrell Simon

Tyrell Simon is a twenty-five-year-old African American college graduate. After starting this novel at the age of twenty-one, he put down the pen, feeling he lacked the ability and experience to tell a cohesive story. A year later, this idea proved too strong for him to ignore. Growing up in New York City, he honed his observation skills from the hustle and bustle of daily life. Capturing the essence of the dysfunctional dark metropolis that he called home.

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Copyright © 2022 Tyrell Simon.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Archway Publishing

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Bloomington, IN 47403

www.archwaypublishing.com

844-669-3957

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Scripture taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

ISBN: 978-1-6657-2847-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6657-2848-5 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2022914972

Archway Publishing rev. date: 08/08/2022

CONTENTS

About the Author

Preface

Dedication

Warning

Chapter 1 Genesis

Chapter 2 Ascension

Chapter 3 And Behold

Chapter 4 Sukkot

Chapter 5 Hosanna

Chapter 6 Faith

Chapter 7 My Father Is King

Chapter 8 Garden of Eden

Chapter 9 Model Citizen

Chapter 10 Penance

Chapter 11 Hubris

Chapter 12 Transfiguration

Chapter 13 Sanctification

Chapter 14 Temptation

Chapter 15 Testament

Chapter 16 The Tragedy

Chapter 17 The Masterpiece

Chapter 18 Atonement

Chapter 19 Gospel

Chapter 20 Terminus

Chapter 21 Anno Domini

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Tyrell Simon is a twenty-four-year-old African American college graduate and first-time author of a dark young adult/literary fiction. After starting the first chapter at the age of twenty-one, he decided to put the pen down after feeling he lacked the ability and experience to tell a cohesive story. A year later of being provoked by his own thoughts, this idea proved too strong for him to ignore. Growing up in New York City, he honed his observation skills from the hustle and bustle of daily life. Once again, coming back to the fold, the young author began to take the risk of writing an edgy tale. After months of dedication, he’s proven he has more than enough to say.

PREFACE

Thank you.

Thank you to the reader who took time out of their life to experience this book. It is truly a blessing. In life, we all go through ups and down’s but the point is to persevere. I wrote this book at a time of my life where I felt there was a calling for it. I wrote from the heart the best way I knew how. Sometimes the things you do aren’t for you. Sometimes it’s about the person it can affect. I hope this fictional story has found you in good graces. I hope you learned something and, most importantly, felt inspired. Maybe something in the book made you look in the mirror. To see yourself as what you need to be. Not what you want to be. I feel that we all have callings, and when we don’t listen to the call, that’s when we suffer. Success isn’t about proving to anything to others. The hardest critic you have is yourself. Once you find your way and prove to yourself, you are doing what you need to do, that’s when you’re truly successful. This all started as an idea that somehow manifested itself into your hands. Right now, I’m a self-actualized version of my incomplete self. I wanted more, so I did more. It’s never too late to make a change for the better. Everyone has a story. Walk with a pure heart and see what gifts are presented to you. Invest in yourself not with just money but with time. Answer your call. Wherever you are, don’t be the tragedy of your own masterpiece. Let us prey.

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to Josephine C.

Simon, may she rest in peace.

WARNING

This book’s story and characters are completely fictional. Nevertheless, this book features events and scenes that some may find upsetting. This book touches on the topics of religion, mental illness, sex, drug use and references to self-harm.

Reader discretion is advised.

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CHAPTER 1

GENESIS

In all toil there is profit, but mere talk tends only to poverty.

—Proverbs 14:23

O n a rainy dusk, droplets of water seep through my umbrella and trickle down on my black leather wingtips. In my charcoal suit, raindrops bespatter my shoulders. Tilting my head back at the grayish-lilac and vanilla-gold sky, I think, It’s a shame to look like this on such a rainy day.

Looking in front of me, I see an umber-brown mahogany casket that sits open. I seem to be in some sort of construction area filled with cranes, metal beams, and stockpiled wood. I take a small step, further submerging my shoes into the pooling rain, and walk toward the casket. I looked down at my shoes. The clear water of rain mixed with droplets of red. Is this…blood? The more steps I take, the faster my heart rushes. I finally arrive, and at its edge, I peek over to see who is inside.

Empty. An empty casket, now starting to become decorated with red splatters.

I stare into the coffin and pull myself to climb in. As I lay my head on the satin pillow, I fold my hands across my chest. For some reason, it doesn’t feel as uncomfortable as I thought it would. As I lay there, I take one final look at the mélange of colors in the sky. The rain begins to slow as a bright light cracks through the thinning clouds—so bright it causes me to close my eyes.

***

After a few seconds, I slowly opened them only to view my dark surroundings and see what was all too familiar—my college room. I was in my bed. Rubbing my eyes with one hand, I felt around my sheets to find my phone. But as soon as I grabbed it and hit the home button, the light blinded me, and I struggled to turn the brightness down. With the afterimage floating in my retina, I turned my head to the left and checked my alarm for the time—4:59 a.m. I guess I beat my alarm for five o’clock.

Beep-beep-beep. The alarm pierced through the air, rupturing the serenity of the silence the morning always brought. As it rang, I stared at the ceiling, taking a deep breath while the electronic shrieking reverberated through my room, then shut it off and pulled myself up out of bed.

I started at the floor, blinked to clear my vision, and let out a long yawn. In the dim room, the floor was a black cavity merging into the shadows, playing tricks on my eyes, so I turned my head to the right, looking at the window—drizzle. Small droplets of rain gathered on the glass of the window and streamed down until they slid out of my view.

Three classes today, I said to myself.

Standing up to stretch, I noticed the moon was still visible, and its dim, white, peaceful light washed over one-fourth of the room, allowing me to see enough in the dark to move around and not bump into anything. I proceeded to make my bed and then brushed my teeth while looking at my bloodshot eyes in the mirror. In the shower, I had the water warm enough to create a nice steam, but not enough where it wouldn’t allow me to breathe. As the water secreted through my hair and hit my feet, I got lost in my thoughts. I wonder if, by the time I get out of class, it will still be raining. There’s so much rain in April. Why does it always rain in April?

I got dressed, took my medication, grabbed my umbrella, and headed to class. It was 5:45 a.m. The class didn’t start until 7:00 a.m., but I liked to get there early. During my walk to class, the rain trickled onto my dark brown duck boots. The birds were loudly tweeting away as if no one else but them could hear. As usual, I walked down a green, grassy path. It was a shortcut I used because this path was narrow and only had room for one person to walk at a time, so I could avoid the campus crowd. But it eventually led back to the concrete, back to the normally populated walkways. The rain continued to beat down on my umbrella as I made my way to the classroom building.

I reached the building and closed my umbrella before heading to the first class of the day, philosophy. This was a class I enjoyed for the simple fact that it promoted multiple ways of thinking. It wasn’t like mathematics, where there was only one answer. Philosophy was a class that promoted different perspectives, creating a place for discussion, which I liked to observe. I opened the door and took a seat all the way to the left, in the back corner of the lecture hall.

Every seat was open, since I was the only one there, but that’s where I wanted to be. After I sat down and opened my laptop, I went to the school’s website, and instantly, the school colors of gray, white, and navy blue filled up the screen. I briefly checked emails, then headed over to check my grades for any recent updates. I had a ninety-eight in philosophy, a ninety-seven in poetry, and a one hundred in psychology—all A’s but still not perfect. I continued to browse and look at the next assignments coming up when suddenly I heard a deep voice call my name.

Ky!

Who could be here as early as I am?

Professor Fortunato, the philosophy teacher, was walking toward me. He was tall, with glasses and brown hair. He had on a white button-down shirt, black slacks, and brown penny loafers that were soaked. He’d been caught in the rain too.

What’s up, man? Why are you here so early? I asked.

I should be asking you the same. He was a pretty cool professor, one I could actually enjoy having conversations with. It might have been because of the subject matter he taught, or maybe it was just his personality. Whatever it was, I could tolerate him. It was raining, he continued, so I figured I would leave early to avoid any traffic.

Oh, okay, cool.

Your turn. He took off his dripping trench coat.

My turn for what? I asked.

Your turn to answer the question. Why are you here so early?

Uh … I just woke up early. I’ve been having trouble sleeping lately. Graduation is around the corner, and I’m just trying to stay focused, you know?

He smiled slowly and then chuckled.

What’s funny? I asked, slightly squinting my eyes.

Ky, I understand that you’re a hard worker, but you’ve gotta ease up a bit. Let me show you something. Come down to the front. You might enjoy this.

He walked to the front of the lecture hall. With a sigh, I gathered my things and followed him down. I could have been getting an early start on some work, but instead, he was wasting my time. Still, he was the professor, so I did as he asked.

What’s up? What do you want to show me?

Professor Fortunato stood next to the podium, opened his laptop, and went to one of his folders. He started laughing as he scrolled through a few photos, then, selecting one, he expanded it to the full screen. You see this picture? This was me back in college.

It was a picture of Professor Fortunato on the floor, passed out sloppy drunk, with crushed beer cans everywhere.

What is this? I asked.

It’s a party I attended back in the day and … well, you see the result. He shrugged, barely suppressing a grin.

I get that, but why are you showing me this?

I’m showing you this because it’s a trip down memory lane, and I want you to understand time. Time is a very precious thing, Ky. It’s something you can never get back. I’ve had you in my classes three times since you were a freshman, and you’ve never missed one class. You got a nearly perfect grade in my class every time too.

I looked at him, and a tightness in my chest pushed back when I tried to take a deep breath because I couldn’t understand what he was getting at. You say that like it’s a bad thing, I said.

Look, what I’m trying to say is that I don’t want you to graduate and get your degree and then look back at this time you had in your youth as just work. That’s a big mistake and something many people regret when they get older. You’re about to graduate soon, its senior year, and I think you should go out and have some fun.

So you want me to look like you in this picture?

He laughed and fixed his glasses. No, not this extreme; this was bad. But I do want you to have some fun. How about this … He started digging in his bag and then pulled out the syllabus. Once he found the current month, Professor Fortunato brought the paper to my face to show me the assignment.

Here is this week’s assignment. It’s 6:15 a.m. right now. If you complete this by 7:00 a.m., you can take off for the rest of the day.

I didn’t say anything because I didn’t feel like going back and forth with him that early in the morning. He was a philosophy professor, and I knew he would argue his point. So I just took the sheet of paper with the assignment written on it, sat down in the front row, and got to work.

The assignment was pretty easy, just a two-page response to any philosophical question I could think of—simple enough. I thought about it for about two minutes, and an idea came to me. While I worked, Professor Fortunato read a book and drank his coffee. He seemed relaxed and didn’t bother me even once. I typed it up quickly and brought my laptop up to the front of the lecture hall. He grabbed the laptop, placed it on the podium, and began reading the title.

‘Is Free Will Our Free Will If There Is Divine Intervention?’ he read out loud, then looked at me and laughed. Well, this will be a good read. I see there are four pages instead of two. Outdoing yourself again, huh? I expected nothing less.

I guess I just really got into the topic. It wasn’t hard.

Well, it’s almost 7:00 a.m. I think you should go and take a nap or grab some breakfast or something, he said, then winked at me.

I felt guilty about leaving class but didn’t question it. I just said okay and headed toward the door. As I walked away, I envisioned myself as a person on a TV show who got voted off by the judges after an audition. Right before I pushed the door to exit the lecture hall, Professor Fortunato shouted my name again. Ky!

I turned and looked.

Use your free will wisely. I heard what he said but didn’t respond, letting the door swish closed behind me.

I began walking down the hall toward the building’s exit. I was so focused on trying to open my umbrella and walking, that I bumped into one of my classmates, who was presumably heading to philosophy. With my umbrella finally open, back in the rain I went.

As I walked, I saw students together as friends would be—talking, laughing—and some others running, trying not to get wet. People who enjoyed each other’s company—at least for the time being. This is a community, I thought as I walked and contemplated. I thought about campus life and the rules we had in this small section of the world. Every community has its own rules and way of life. As college students, we followed a schedule. Once you left this campus, this community, this world would cease to exist, and another one would take over. The people living in the house a few blocks away were on their own schedule, their own time. They followed the rules in that town, community, or neighborhood. We had these schedules to maintain order in our communities because—bang—I bumped into someone and almost dropped my bag. I’d been deep in thought and didn’t even notice someone had been walking directly toward me. I looked up and knew exactly who I bumped into—Emery! We hadn’t really spoken since freshman year. We had been good friends but just went our separate ways as I focused on school and she focused on parties.

Ky! Oh, my goodness, what’s up? She gave me a little hug as she was running, and since she didn’t have an umbrella, she got my shirt wet. Oh, sorry, but it’s just water—you’ll be fine. How are you, though? We haven’t spoken since freshman year.

Emery was a beautiful girl with dark brown hair and hazel eyes. We’d become friends our freshman year because we were both psychology majors and had some tough classes together, so we decided to have study sessions a few times a week. She would always come to me because everyone else was boring as a tutor. She had a pretty smile that could persuade most men to do anything. I could’ve easily fallen victim, too, but I knew she wouldn’t use me. I was one of the people she respected.

Yo, where you headed? she asked.

It took me a