There would always be this one boy in the classroom. Whenever the teacher wasn't teaching, he'd always draw. He'd always be intently staring at a sketchpad; large or small. He'd use everything for a utensil as well! Such as Pencils, Pens, markers, Crayons, sometimes he'd use his hands! Or something like that.
But the thing is, he was always away from people. In the corner, or not even in the classroom sometimes. I thought when people are done with their drawings, they'd show it off.....right?
I guess not for him.
So curiosity took over me one day, and I went up to him. He didn't even look up from his sketchbook. "What?" He grumbled, drawing an X over the current drawing he was on, and flipped a page. I grinned and asked, "May I watch?" He didn't respond.
We eventually began to grow closer. His parents were very nice, but he was cold to me as always. Well, not as much as before, but it still makes me happy just being around him.
His drawings weren't very colourful. Infact, they were usually full of blacks and grays, maybe dark reds and blues. Some were crying, some looked like the stuff called 'War' we learned in class. So in short, he mostly drew sad stuffs.
He never liked it when I made a request to draw something. He'd usually retort with something like "Piss off." "You wouldn't like it." "I only draw in a certain type." "That's too hard." but what surprised me one day was, I asked him to draw himself. It didn't like anything look him! The drawing of him was very simple, unlike his other drawings which were very detailed. His head was scribble nonsense that were in somewhat shape of a circle, and then a rectangular like body with pointed hands. He even let me keep it! But then I asked him to draw me. He told me 'Piss off', but I eventually led him into drawing me. It had every feature of me, except there was a sketchy rectangle covering my eyes. It had the words 'innocent' in the rectangle.
I didn't understand.
As I grew older, I eventually grew to realize what all his drawings meant. Why he'd only show me certain ones. He had matured much faster than all of us; he knew of the worlds sadness and worries. And he knew what they felt like too. I understood why he drew himself like that; why he draw me like that. He'd draw death.
Of himself.
I stayed silent. I thought he just drew like this for fun, but I was wrong. I remember tagging along with him on a walk. I always went on walks, and that day he said he wanted to join me. He both lived near eachother, near a train track.
I remember the flashing red lights and the beams moving down signaling the train was coming. I remember he was crying. He mouthed;
'I'm sorry for what I have done. I love you.'
I still had innocent painted over my face.
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The boy who drew Death(feat. Innocent Girl)
Thanks for reading!
