Creativity Counts

“Hey, Vincent!” his friend Ludwig said as he entered the room.

“Music is a waste of time! Art is a waste of time!” Vincent replied.

“What makes art and music so great?” Vincent asked.

“Waste of TIME” Vincent interrupted. “If we weren’t all study partners, I don’t know why we would be

friends!”

“It just is! Music helps me think!” Ludwig said. “And art helps me describe things in fantastic ways!” Leo added.

“We were friends before we we studied together, Vincent. Come with us and Leo and I will show you how great art can be,” Ludwig said. “If art is so great,” Vincent snapped, “then why don’t they teach it at school?”

Leo and Ludwig looked at each other, defeated. “If you really don’t want to, Vincent, then we’ll

leave you alone,” they said.

And with that, Vincent spent all day studying, and when he was done, he went to bed.

Vincent woke up with a start. He heard creaking, and rattling. He turned on his lamp to see...

...A ghost! Covered in chains and bandages. And, Vincent realized, it looked a lot like Ludwig. “Ludwig! What are you doing in my room!? It is very late!” Vin-cent cried angrily.

“No, Vincent, I am not Ludwig. I am a ghost here to show you the error of your ways. If you do not change yourself, you are going to work yourself into the ground.

Vincent squirmed uncomfortably. “Well, um...”

“I try very hard to do well in school! You don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ll never give up!” Vincent argued. “You try the same thing very often, Vincent. There are other ways to learn. Your efforts in your studies have hurt you and your friends.

A new ghost, that looked like Leo, flew through the window. “Then you will be visited by three ghosts!” the ghost said. “They will show you the error of your ways, Vincent. Goodbye! And good luck!”

Suddenly, it was silent. Vincent sat alone in his room. It was quiet. Too quiet. Vincent lay in his bed, won-dering if any of it was real.

“Weren’t you just here?” Vincent accused. “No, I am a different spirit!” the ghost said. Vincent, though unconvinced, stayed quiet.

Suddenly, he felt something crawl uo the foot of his bed. A short, dark figure loomed over him. “I am the ghost of days long past, Vincent,” the figure said. Vincent recognized it as... Lugwig, again?

With a snap of his fingers, the spirit whisked them both through time.

“Get dressed. Vincent. Tonight, I am here to make you recall your days before you locked yourself away, when you were funloving and social.

Within moments, Vincent was looking through a window at his younger self. He was among younger versions of Leo and Ludwig, and they

were all dancing.

“Look Vincent,” the spirit observed, “you used to love music. Look how much fun you were having.”

At that moment, the younger Vincent began singing “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star,” the first words Vincent ever spoke. He heard his parents gasp happily.

“That’s before I knew how useless it was,” Vincent snapped, folding his arms. “Music taught you how to

speak, Vincent!” the ghost interrupted.

“What about this?” The spirit snapped his fingers, whisking them them to yet another time.

“I would have picked better first words, instead of some-thing so useless.” Vincent stood, arms crossed, unwilling

to listen.

Young Vincent looked puzzled for a moment. Then a look of realization spread across his face. He began mixing paints to create colors he hadn’t had before, Leo

and Ludwig clapped in amazement.

Vincent saw his younger self fingerpainting with his young friends. “Look how happy you were. You didn’t always have your nose in a book, and yet you learned

new things all the time.”

The Ludwig-like spirit frowned. “If you will not listen to me, Vincent, then I have no choice but to pass you on to the next ghost.” With a snap of his fingers, Vincent was back in his bed.

“Look Vincent! That was when you learned how to think outside the box! Remember how rewarding that felt?” Vincent did remember, but did not show it. “I learned how to glob paint together. That’s not important, when would I ever use that?” Vincent, ever the skeptic, asked.

BANG. BANG. BANG. Suddenly, something bright floated through the wall. It floated above Vincent’s bed for a moment, until it took the shape of Leo.

The spirit flew around Vincent, around and around and around, until Vincent could not see past the bright lights.

“Hello, Vincent. I’m here to show you what you’re missing out on, here in the present,” it said. “Oh, boy, here we go again,” Vincent said, unafraid.

Then, Vincent found himslef in Ludwig’s room. Ludwig was studying at his desk, while classical music filled the aiclassical music filled the air, as Ludwig hummed along. “Ludwig finds concentrating easier when he listens to music,” the ghostly Leo said. “How can that be?” Vincent asked. “Music can’t make you a better student.” “On the contrarthe contrary,” Leo said, “Ludwig has always been a good student, especially when he studied along to a good symphony.”

“Let me show you,” the ghostly Leo said. Vincent saw a flash, and suddenly he saw Leo, writing and doodling on his paper.

Vincent was dumbfounded. Surely that couldn’t be true. “But what about Leo? The real Leo, I mean. He doesn’t pay much attention to music, and he’s just as good a student!”

“Leo is the best at writing stories in class, because he has such an because he has such an active imagination,” the ghost said. “Because he loves making pictures, he can describe things vividly, and the teacher loves it.”

Vincent was silent. Could it be true? Could art and music really be what he was missing? Would it really improve him that much? Before Vincent knew it, he Vincent knew it, he was alone in his room again.

The ghost did not answer. Instead, it picked him up and carried him out of his bedroom. After they passed his door, Vincent realized they werre no longer in his house.

A tall, scary figure rose to his bedside. “Who... who are you?” Vincent asked, afraid. He did not recognize this ghost.

They were on a stage, and Vincent could hear music! They emerged from behind a curtain to see an orchestra! The ghost pointed at the conductor. It was Ludwig! But... older. He looked successful, and happy.

“Are you showing me the future?” Vincent asked. “If this is what happens to Ludwig, then what becomes of me?

Suddenly Vincent couldn’t see anything. He was moving again, the ghost still carrying him, A door opened in front of him, and he could see again. He saw a hallway with a man in it. The man had a mop.

The janitor looked up as though he could see Vincent/ He waved. He COULD see Vincent. The ghost let him go, and Vincent ran to the janitor.

It was Vincent, but older. HE was the janitojanitor. “Where did I go wrong!? What can I do to change this? I try so hard and yet I turn into you?” Vincent cried, disappointed.

“Ludwig and Leo were “Ludwig and Leo were right, Vincent,” the janitor said.

“We focused so much on learning from a book that we never learned how to think critically, or to work with others. Art can teach you things that you just things that you just can’t learn from a book. It’s too late for me, but you can change this.”

They were surprised to see him. “I’m sorry,” Vincent said. “I’m sorry I treated you both so terribly. I want to be friends again. Do you guys want to... I don’t know... paint something?”

Vincent suddenly snapped awake. It was morning. “Was it a dream?” Vincent wondered aloud. It felt so real. He had learned his lesson. He got dressed and ran outside, down the street, to find Ludwig and Leo.

Leo and Ludwig smiled wide. “That sounds fantastic,” they said. That day changed VVincent. After he took up art, things became easier. He was able to think more clearly and vividly. Though he never became a famous conductor, or artist, he didn’t become a janitor. He became a successful businessman. successful businessman. Even so, it was rare to find him sitting at his desk without the company of music.