Frost Over

Snow Flakes

He sat there watching the picture before him, as if he thought it changed. He wanted it to change. Before him was a soft sketch of a open lake, frozen over with bare trees around it, coated with snow and frost. He would ask anyone to look at it, to tell him was exactly what was wrong with it-because he didn't know. He just felt...off, it wasn't right. Something was off about it and he didn't know what. Maybe it was how the snow wasn't falling, how it was just there, blanketing the once green grass below. Not a single flower showed up from anywhere in the snow-where as in his other previous drawings there'd be atleast one sign of life, aside from the dreadfully dark trees that may be in the drawing.
Maybe it was hoe there was little light. In the others there was a warm light to contrast the coldness the picture held. But this wasn't right. And his brown hues didn't tear away from the drawing until he heard the soft beep of a timer-the sound of his little clock that reminded him it was time to take the laundery out and put in the drier. He stood, glancing once to the little oval mirror he had there in his room, on the wall by pictures he'd hung up, ones he'd made. He took a few bread seconds to notice he'd smeared a bit of the colored charcoal on one side of his freckled face.
Sighing, he stepped from the drawing and all the little supplies he had there , and made his was the to laundry room just down the hall. It was quite late, actually, but he didn't want to leave the wet laundry there all night, and he preceded to have atleast some clean clothing to wear in the morning. So he quietly set off to tossing laundry into the drier and turned it on once he finished.
He quietly walked from the small laundry room and to the kitchen, to grab a drink before he'd lay down. And as he filled his cup up the smallest movement caught his attention, and he looked to the window as a smile found its way to his lips. The first snowflake he'd seen. The first snowflake of winter-atleast to him. And the idea of the snow to come made him think to the girl he'd seen in his drawings. How she was always in the snow. He didn't know who she was, he didn't know why he drew her only in the snow. He'd tried before to do her in a different scenery-but it didn't seem right.
And now the snow was starting, flake by flake. Maybe he'd fine out who she was . Or maybe he'd realize how silly he sounded. Maybe he was just in a block and the girl was the only he knew he could draw right. But even if she wasn't real, the idea of her still brought a smile to his face.
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I will add to this, only if someone has interest in this story being continued. It's just a start, it's not the best, but hopefully it'll get better. If you like it, let me know and I'll continue it.]