The walls in the room were empty. No, the walls in my room were empty; I had to get used to that. The only characterizing thing in the room was the scent of newly painted walls and febreze, and the only furniture that had arrived was my bed. I clumsily tossed myself onto it, causing the springs to slink a few times. I just sat and stared at the barren wall across from me. Although, it wasn’t completely blank; it had a bumpy texture that I ran my fingers along, then dropped them back to my side. Going over to my backpack resting near the door, that had rode in the cab with us, I unzipped the top zipper and reached my hand inside. Grabbing onto what I searched for, I walked back to the soon to be beautiful wall, leaving the bag with it’s mouth gaping open. I didn’t even think, I just created. Line soon connecting to line, forming shapes, then pictures evolving into art. I wonder what it felt like for the wall; having its personality slowly become character that set a colorful temperament for the whole room. Over time the rest of the room came to match my wall, but the wall always evolved making my room evolve with it. The time I would be in that room slowly came to an end, and the last fingerprint of mine that was left upon my room was the wall. I didn’t want to erase it; I didn’t want to throw away its personality. However, I knew someone would come along and claim the wall as I did, and make it their own. After I painted over everything and the room was completely empty, I left.
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Wow! This is a really interesting piece! I think it would be even better if there was some more description about the painting that the narrator makes. 🙂
Thanks for commenting, I appreciate it. That’s a good idea, it’ll add more depth to the writing in general. I’ll just have to think about how I want to describe it.