Manhattan

02.

AIDAN CLOSED THE door to the apartment behind him and stopped when he saw his mother asleep on the couch.

Her wild crimson hair was coming loose from it's bun and there were smudges of blue and red paint smeared across her face. Aidan smiled, pulled a blanket over her and kissed her forehead. She stirred slightly in his response to his touch but didn't wake up.

Sighing, he made his way over to his room, stepping over the paint cans and brushes that littered the floor. He changed into a pair of Iron Man pyjama pants (embarrassing but comfortable) then opened the window to let in the cool night air.

The honking of cars and roaring of engines filled his ears immediately. Neon lights and advertisements flicked across the billboards, lighting up the city. He was suddenly reminded of the girl he saw on the streets earlier that day, gazing around at the city in raw fascination. He wondered why she seemed so awestruck by it. He supposed all the flashing lights and towering skyscrapers did send out a rather exciting and exhilarating vibe, but, even though he'd never actually seen it with his own eyes, Aidan thought he'd much prefer the quiet and peace of the countryside, where you could hear the symphony of the crickets and see the constellations of stars at night that the city lights and sounds always blocked out.

With a wide yawn, Aidan stretched, ran his hand through his hair and climbed into bed. He was about to reach over to turn off his light when he saw the picture of his father sitting on his night table. He blinked, then took it in his hands, gazing at the picture of him caught in mid-laugh. The laughter lines around his eyes were prominent, and his warm brown eyes twinkled with joy and love. Aidan blinked rapidly, trying to clear the wetness in his eyes, and set the picture down, away from his line of sight.

He closed his eyes, pressing his hands against his eyelids until he saw red. Knowing he wouldn't get any sleep even if he tried, he grabbed a pencil and the sketchbook his mother had always insisted he keep next to his bed and began to draw.

He started with a building, and then two, three, until he had sketched a city teeming with life. He added lights and cars, billboards and shops, people walking, laughing, talking. As the night went on he sketched and sketched, and finally, when his fingers got sore and his eyelids began to droop, he added the final touch. A girl with curly hair, raising her arms to the sky, an expression of striking wonder etched across her face.