Wednesday, March 19, 2008 @ 7:37 AM
im gonna do something i havent done in a long time. im gonna narrate.
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he, was there. he was there, on a chair, in a room of four walls of grey.
the light of the moon was cast in through a square window in the far corner, providing him the warmth of the night, and pale light casting shadows in the flickering yellow of the lone bulb on the ceiling.
through the flickers one can see an artist's canvas of pure white -- of emptiness; of calm and serenity. white cast against the shadows of the night; stark contrast to the demeanor of the world and its melancholy. yes, white seemed empty, in the dark, dark night.
he picked his tools -- brush of fine horse hair, and assortment of vivid paint beneath his chair. the colors of his tools seemed out of place in his dark, dark world.
of his own accord, his hands started moving across the canvas, with meaning, with purpose. colors began staining the once calm canvas.
joyful yellow. strong blue. teasing purple. loving pink. passionate red.
and even more so, the colors of his tools seemed out of place in this dark, dark world.
in his painting, there was a woman. she was kneeling in a meadow of grass. there was nothing else, but the blue sky and white fluffy clouds made out of dreams, hopes and aspirations.
but suddenly, he changed.
the blue sky turned black as night. grey overwhelmed the white clouds of dreams, turning into that of hate, jealousy and hypocrisy.
lightning cracked overhead, and the scream of the heavens was deafening.
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i think i shall stop here for now. i havent decided on a suitable ending for this story.