Journal #2

Turns out they really weren't going to draw anything, for a while they just sat there, staring at the blank paper in front of them, as if they could bring forth a drawing just by staring hard enough. A few times they uncapped the pen and poked the page, but then quickly put the cap back on. After a good while they drew me on their desk, very close to the edge of the paper, then stuck the pen away and left the room quickly.

I waited for a while on the desk, waiting for them to come back through the door with a snack in hand like they do so often, but they did not come back. Not for a long time at least. Not until the room was cloaked in a layer of shade and the light from the moon seeping in through the window was the only thing to look at.

So as I sat there in the quiet I wrote a little story for myself. Nothing too serious, just a little idea that popped into my head.

Keep in mind, I'm no professional so don't judge too much.

Here it is-

Once, there was a person who ate three meals a day. Each meal consisting of a healthy amount of food as well as the proper amount of vitamins to live, but, this person was terribly, terribly starving. They lived in a large city and had a well paying job, they exercised regularly and didn't ever go to bed too late. During their breaks from work, they spent time in their comfortable apartment doing brain puzzles.

They live a good life that's full of productivity and efficiency, but they are always dreadfully starving. They noticed it one day walking home from work, when the sun already went down and the street lights were on; they noticed that something was very not right. Feeling worried, they contacted their doctor and went in for an examination, but alas they were said to be perfectly fine except for a bit of needed flossing.

Feeling more puzzled than they did on some of the most difficult brain puzzles they've done, they walked home feeling dazed. "What could it be?" They thought, as they rolled over all the possibilities in their head until finally they had to go to sleep.

But when they woke up they thought of it more and more. At work they thought of it, almost spilling hot tea all over their co-worker because they weren't paying any attention. So after that they pushed it from their mind and went through the work day, the thought completely gone from their head.

Days passed, then days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. During all that time they did not ever recall it and completely ignored the feeling. But, after a while, as they were walking down the street on a day off, something around the edge of a building caught their eye. The thing drew them closer like a moth to a flame until they found themselves standing right in front of the largest painting they've seen in their life. The colorful masterpiece sprawled up and across the surface of the wall; it's vibrant colors seeming to break out and leap from the 2D surface. They stood there for a very long time, staring at the paint on the bricks like the most interesting story was written all over them, and only until a countless while later did they finally leave the alley with tears in their eyes.

The very next day they quite their well paying job, and then stayed up all night soaking canvases they bought with their recent paycheck, in paint. And this person lived on to be the most full person they know.

End.

I know I'm no master, I wouldn't hope to compare to the words in the book that the artist reads, but it was something that could erase my boredom.

I finished the story moments before the artist stalked back into the room not even turning on the light. They grabbed the phone on their desk and I briefly saw their face light up with the glow from the electronic. Soon, after they tapped a few places on the screen a soft, and quiet tune began to play, they set the phone down on the desk very close to me and I heard the bed creak as they crawled into it.

For a while the song played, and I listened to its sleepy sound. But when the song came to an end the artist was still and the only noise in the room was the lull of air being breathed.