The Gothic Portrait

Begging To Tear Down The Door. ☹

The loud ringing from his telephone on the night stand caused Simon to wake up abruptly. His eyes ripped open; he took heavy, short breaths as he propped himself up. His fingers curled into the mattress, causing the sheets to drag along with him. He didn't have any responsibilities or anywhere to be, but to stare up at his white roof and paint a life that wasn't his. Simon was a vermin, a low-life, a scumbag. Just about any insult someone's peanut brain could come up with, he'd tell himself. For a moment, there was silence, and the radiating glare of his phone light went off and the room was dark again. Simon looked over, grabbing it to check the time. 6:53 AM; the sun hadn't been up yet. Even in the deficiency of light, he was able to make out the dull furniture he had fit into the small space he called his room. There was no cluster, he liked keeping things tidy, because then he would be able to know if something was missing and if someone had been in his room uninvited. –– The creaking sound of a door being opened and closed alarmed Elijah, who typically slept with the door open so he could peer out into the hallway in case any monsters came trudging up the stairs. He'd have time to run, then. Of course, Simon was the one that put the idiotic idea in the small boy's brain and he, being gullible, believed him. Simon carelessly moved down the stairs, sliding a pair of dirty socked feet into dark boots laid out for him before leaving outside. Elijah watched with a tremble as he hid behind his blue blanket, before his eyes rolled back and he fell asleep. Simon groaned, hands latched onto the handle of the large, green garbage can out on his family's driveway. Today was trash day, so ever can had to be out on the curb to clean out. He kicked it out of annoyance, as the damn thing wouldn't move. His damage to it didn't make it any better, causing one of the small wheels to twist out of place. Simon decided it was best he'd walk away now before any of the neighbors caught him trying to beat up a plastic tin. Shoving his calloused hands in the pocket of his broken down jeans, he kicked the asphalt below him as he made way down the steep driveway towards the road. His eyes couldn't help but to look up, searching for the blue eyes he had locked with the previous night before.

Up in his room, Steve admired with twinkly eyes how he had set his imagination down on white canvas. A small shine of yellow from the sun's rays poked in, reflecting off his orbs and shaping his face so beautifully. The deep orange of his hair contrasted with his pale face. He, in himself, was a masterpiece. What he had drawn was nothing original. A sunset over countryside mountains, cattle in the background. But, what was so admirable about his piece was the beautiful array of colors he casted with a swipe of his brush. Yellows, reds, and oranges blended together peacefully in a mirage. For a second, just a second; Simon could see what drew him to this boy. He held a stare of hope, proudness for who you are. For which he, lacked. That's when he heard it. The crack of a record, followed by a composition of string instruments.

Il me dit des mots d'amour
Des mots de tous les jours
Et ça me fait quelque choseIl est entré dans mon cœur
Une part de bonheur
Dont je connais la causeC'est lui pour moi, moi pour lui dans la vie
Il me l'a dit, l'a juré pour la vie

And so, their eyes met again. A beautiful colored angel, and a ghostly boy. Meeting, in a world of hues.

{ Sorry it's so short! I kind of wanted to establish where each stood in this chapter. Please Vote! }