~Inspired by my dream.
It was the heartbroken girl and it was the mysterious neighbor. Tears caught up in her throat, she wants to scream... But she can't. In and out the man goes, nobody knows his story or what's his motive.
"Let me show you some...
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The tenuous cloud of mystery
The sky wakes up simultaneously with him.
He held onto the pencil firmly as it made a dashing sound against the paper. Slowly moving the pencil in a circular motion, to add realism to the eye he's almost finished with.
The kettle's high pitched screamed made him pause. He gently placed his sketchbook and pencil down, on the wooden desk. Getting up from the chair and looking at his paintings and sculptures, he's growing tired of the same old sketches turning into paintings then to sculptures.
His muse? Died along with his mind, perished in the fire he created.
His sketches, some will never get past the sketching stage. Remaining unfinished. Those were his favorites, in a way. They compelled his mind to think. Why did certain creations of his take almost forever and others finished in a matter of hours? The excitement of the unfinished sketch, they gave him a thrill. Filling his soul with happiness.
He thinks of that one sketch, the sketch on his bedroom wall. The one with the half face, the one he's been working on for years. Oh, yes. Such excitement that brought him.
He smiles mentally as he grabs the kettle's handle and pours the hot water into his mug. He shuffles over to the pantry, opening it to look for his favorite brew of coffee. He pushes everything around before realizing he ran out yesterday.
Curses. What am I to do?
Yesterday night, he picked up new art supplies, but not he's favorite brew of coffee. How could I be so careless... This meaning he might just have to leave the house this early morning for his coffee. Dreadful, he cursed himself. The interactions and relations with the community wasn't his suit.
He wrote a note on a index card and slipped it inside his pocket. To complete his attire he places his thick frames on his face.
Maybe a cup of coffee from Starbucks and I'll go grocery shopping.
The keys played a nice tune upon locking his door. He twists the door knob to make sure the door is locked. His feet patterned towards the elevator. He pressed the down button and waited.
Small anxiety smothered him, the thought of being around people in the day time— well morning, is such a bother. People are such a bother.
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