Zdravtvuytye. I am Nicolai Vonavichev. I am about 21 years old. I am a Russian citizen born in a snowy city called Omsk.

During my childhood days, my father was a soldier fighting for the Soviet federation. While, my mother was a housewife and she is very busy keeping the house as it is, cooking for the family, and doing lots of work all the time. She works as a lumberjack. Since my father isn’t always around, she sacrificed a lot for the both of us. It was always snowing in Omsk as it is a city and the administrative center of Omsk Oblast, Russia, and that it is located in southwestern Siberia, 2,236 kilometers from Moscow.

I really wanted to go to Moscow. I wonder what it would be like there. It must be very nice to live there in such a big city.

But, in a very young age, I worked as a shoemaker.

I wanted to help my mother who was helping a lot for me. At first, I tried my best to start carving wood. Then, I started trying to make actual wooden shoes with the size of an actual foot. I started with mine.

I really did good in it. I made my very first shoes.

I was quite happy about it. Because my mother was planning on buying me shoes because I was always walking around with her only by foot. If not, I’ll be covering my feet with only a few bandages.

Most of the time, those bandages would get tattered, then, I’ll be forced to walk along the cold, and snowy floor only barefooted. Now, I made myself wooden shoes. I’m so happy to share this to my mother because she will no longer worry about me having nothing to protect my feet with.

Then, as she went home, I jumped up and down, and showed her the shoes I made for myself.

She was so amazed at what I did.

The shoes were so detailed. Most of the kids here in Omsk have only ordinary wooden shoes. I have detailed hand carved wooden shoes that I made by myself. Then, I made a pair for my mother.

Then, within just weeks, many people started requesting me to make them pairs for them. If I won’t do it for them, they promised to pay me.

I really helped my mother a lot. We started gaining a lot. My talent in making shoes was such a big help to the family.

One day, there was a girl I saw before.

I haven’t seen her before. She was carrying with her baskets of wood. She got so dirty. Her face was smudged by the ashes from a burned wood.

But even so, she was so beautiful. I looked at her from head to toe.

I noticed that she wasn’t wearing any shoes. I asked her if she’d like to have any.

She swayed her knee lengthen dress. She looked at me and said, “I’d rather go footless than let anyone worry for my sake. But, thank you.”

I just stood there and looked at her.

She walked forward to a boy. She smiled at him. I have never seen a girl that smiles like that before. It feels so different inside. The boy was wearing a big sailor’s hat, and he was smoking a pipe.

And the girl grasped on his arm. From the looks of it, he doesn’t really like the girl. If she’s happy with him, I guess, there’s nothing wrong about it then.

I don’t know this feeling. But it feels rather tormenting.

Then, a man dressed in fine and expensive looking coats, with shiny leathered boots

He pat me on the back, and asked me to show him the wooden shoes that I was been known throughout Omsk in making them

I told mother about a man who wants to meet me about this.

The man said he was from Moscow and that he wants me and my mother to live in Moscow and he will give me a scholarship in an arts school. Because he saw that I have an amazing talent.

He wants me to be an amazing painter once I get older.

And so I did. I became a famous painter and have painted for many millionaires.

My mother was so sick one day, and she was so weak and so old.

It was her time to leave already.

So, now I live all alone in an apartment of an old land lady. I don’t have pets to accompany with because maybe she’ll get angry at me for having pets and making her apartment stink.

I remember that thing happened before about that incident on my last day on Omsk. Ever since that, I lost all my interest in girls. And I never wanted to ever have another relationship.

Then, after a while, the same man who took me and my mother to stay in Moscow called for me and hired me to a job. This job is quite something I could do in ease. He hired me to be a painter.

After a long while, I gained an immense load of clients and commissions. Of course, I became a famous painter in Moscow. Sometimes, even the rich and famous came to me, asking to paint a portrait for them. Then, they’ll pay a huge amount of money.

My life became good and easy to me. Sometimes I wished that mother was still alive now so she could still see how good I’m doing. If ever she is, I would love to give her anything she wanted to have. I would treat her good like she was the Grand Duchess of Russia. I really missed her.

She was the only woman I loved.

You see, even after this many years, I still despise girls, ladies, women, females, and anything of that gender.

Until now, I still haven’t moved on from that day in Omsk.

It was very much just a simple thing that happened to me. But I had no idea why it was so traumatizing in my behalf.

I guess you could say I have Gynophobia.

I don’t really plan on having a relationship with one. I don’t want to start a family with them even. I don’t want to be friends with one as well. No matter how many men would even bow down to her. No matter how perfect she could be. No matter how she might be the right girl that is just my type.

I still loathe on them.

The thing that’s hard in this, is that people might think of me as gay.

Just because I don’t talk to women, I’m always alone, and I don’t do most things that most men usually do.

People might misunderstand me for being a gay.

From realizing this, I slowly removed this loathe against them.

But, still…I still despise them.

But, come to think of it…in this age, it’s expected that I should get married.

Maybe even, mother would probably be happy to know that I married a woman and have conquered my Gynophobia.

So, I thought of something.

What if I paint for myself?

I have just realized, that ever since I was in Omsk, the last thing I ever made for myself was that wooden shoes.

Since then, I never made things for myself after so many people wanted to me to make things for them.

Yet, another curious thought joined…

What if I paint a portrait of a woman?

It is such a pathetic idea. But, yes…what if I do…

I will express through the strokes of my brush, through the pint of my paint, and through the vast expression of the canvas, I will paint and see how I could identify a woman that I would like.

I will put the features of a woman that I like. A woman that appeals my eyes and my heart.

Then, after that, I managed to paint a beautiful kind lady with thick curly red hair, almond shaped green eyes, fair complexion, red rosy cheeks, a kind smile, a pointy nose, and a calm atmosphere she brings.

She is far prettier than the girl in Omsk who has long jet black middle parted hair tied low in the back, with long sharp monolid black eyes, pale complexion, and thin lips.

But, suddenly, I feel like as if the painting was so striking. I’m quite amazed at how it looked very real.

I could never set my eyes off the painting.

I think I’ve fallen in love with the girl in my painting.

I shook my head from left to right. This can’t be happening. I can’t be having fictiophilia!

Yes. I could be afflicted by fictiophilia right now. This girl in the painting surely does not exist. That means she’s fictional. That also means that I have developed feelings on a fictional girl!

This is even more embarrassing!

I feel so confused right now!

Why is it that real women who I could see every day could never vanquish my heart but a girl in a painting could?

This is utterly pathetic.

I looked away and never went back to that painting again. I watched television, updated my blogs in the internet, but I did not accept any commissions for that day because I claim that day as a rest day for me.

But, I couldn’t resist myself. I just had to look at that painting.

I just had to at least take a little peek.

Gosh, what is happening to me? This is even worse than that girl in Omsk.

I have to give in. I have fallen in love with a girl I had just painted within hours.

But it would be quite rude if I haven’t given her a name. I’ll name her Genevieve.

A few days later, I went out and bought something for my love.

Dahlia, plumerias, hydrangea, peony, bleeding hearts, camellia, oleander, London pride, hyacinth, straw flowers, osteospernum, pear flower, and fuschia. Al of those beautiful flowers in a customized bouquet.

All for the girl that I loved.

I returned home, and was happy to see her. I approached her and gave her a kiss.

“My Angelic sweetheart, Genevieve! I brought you gifts! Because I love you!” I said.

And I caressed the canvas surface.

Then, I fell on my knees and cried in agony.

I felt so heartbroken to realize that she is just a mixture of paint laying on a canvas cloth.

She is just a painting. I could never meet a girl like her even because I still have Gynophobia.

Even if she could be real, I can’t have the courage to talk to her.

Why do I have to be such a coward?

All I could ever do is keep her as a secret.

No one shall know who she is. But I want to let her know that I’m not ashamed on loving her.

I feel so hopeless.

I went out of my house yet again.

I sat on a bench with the bouquet on my hands.

I jolted as I saw it on my hands. I never knew I was grasping to it. I felt so nervous for no one should think that I have a painted girlfriend.

Then, a girl of orange hair came to me.

I was quite mesmerized by her for she looked almost like Genevieve.

“What a beautiful bouquet you have there.” She said.

I was too astonished at how she really looked like Genevieve. I was just gazing firmly to her eyes for a very long time.

So she did.

“Sir is there something wrong?” she asked.

I jolted and said, “O-oh well...uh…nothing at all…it’s just that you look a lot like someone I knew.”

“Is that by chance a girl whom you loved extremely?” she asked.

I was surprised at her answer. I asked her, “What’s your name?”

“My name is Morticia.” She answered.

“Morticia…that’s a wonderful name.” I said.

She smiled at me. Then she asked, “Why did you ask? Is it because you thought that it was Genevieve?”

I was very surprised at what she said, that I gasped and said, “How did you know that?”

“Do you have a wish?” she asked.

I was quite demented at why she asked that.

“I think you already know what that is…” I said.

Then, all the people there stopped and it’s as if time has stopped for them.

“You want your Genevieve to be real…that’s my guess.” She said.

I nod my head, and said, “I want to be with her and love her forever.”

“Don’t you have Gynophobia?” she asked.

“You seem to know a lot…” I said.

“You see Nicolai; the Dream box heard your cries. It has heard the wishes from the depths of your very heart. The Dream box wants you to have your happiness. Now, there’s nothing to worry now…Your wish is granted…Now, go home. But, promise to me, that you’ll never tell anyone.” She said.

“What’ll happen to me if I did?” I asked.

“I will take everything I gave you. You will go back to Omsk and you will lose everything you have.” She said.

I stared at the ground in fear.

“Now go…go to your home. She’ll love the gift you’ll be giving her.” She smiled and slowly disappeared.

I ran back home.

I entered and saw…the canvas…I was in deep doubt. There is nothing to be found new here…

“Genevieve…Genevieve sweetheart…” I called to her.

Nothing happened.

I approached the canvas and caressed the canvas. It feels like nothing. Just the ordinary cold portrait as it was before.

I guess…I have relied on the ‘Dream Box’ too much. I’ll have to publish this to my blog…

I went to get the white latex paint. I cried as I looked at it. It feels so bad to erase everything. Knowing, that I could never paint another portrait of her again.

I went to look for the box of matches. Then I went outside. I plan on burning the whole canvas. So, I piled up some dried leaves. Ready to burn a piece of my love.

I then poured a litter of gasoline to the dried leaves.

Then, I went back inside. I saw Genevieve. I cried to the thought of burning her. But then…I realized that I have something to add in the portrait. Remembering that I’ll be posting this later in the blog then burn it and forget about this work forever. I have to put my signature to it. It would still be angry if some random art thief claims it.

I took my finest pen and started writing my signature.

Then I stood up to look at it. Then, Genevieve’s eyes blinked. I jolted in surprise. She smiled and later her eyes moved in a circular movement.

I shook my head left to right.

She then stopped moving and she was just as she was before.

I sighed as I knew it was all just my imagination.

I cried yet again remembering that I should be burning her later.

My face was all red and wet of all the tears I shed.

Then, I felt a warm hand softly touching my face. Then, I hear a warm gentle angelic voice saying, “Why are you crying, N-nico-l-lai?”

I jolted and looked at the canvas, and then I saw her hand coming out of the canvas.

My eyes widen in shock. She wiped off my tears, smiled and said, “I’m sorry, I don’t know how you read this…it’s quite scribbly…” Then she showed her shoulder to me and pointed the signature written on her shoulder.

“M-my signature!” I said in bewilderment.

“Oh, I see!! You painted me right?” she said in excitement.

I got so curious that I tried rubbing off the signature on her shoulder. But, it won’t get off. It’s like a tattoo.

She then went outside the canvas like she’s escaping a portal. But, the background stays that way. I touched that canvas and it feels like it was before but Genevieve wasn’t there anymore. I looked at her from head to toe.

I was so nervous that my face was red all over. She just spins around there with her dress flowing of the watercolors I placed.

I then grasp for the bouquet and hid it behind my back then called her.

“Genevieve!”

She looked at me with an excited smile.

Then I gave her the flowers. She looked at them and smiled and continues spinning around.

I hugged her tight and showered her with my kisses