Over the quiet town of Big Sandy, early October was setting in and chilling the soft wind. Jason sat in his room looking out the window. He watched as the trees rustled in the dancing breeze. It wouldn't be long before the biting cold would greet the town. He saw the last survivors of fall tumble down onto the ground making beautiful piles of red, brown and yellow leaves. He sighed and it fogged the glass. He longed to paint such beauty but sadly his skills could never capture this moment were everything was still, frosty, and perfect.
He stood up from the stool he had been perched in order to look through the glass into the world of fall and looked around his room. It was dark, with only his desk lamp to help him see.
His desk was to the left, holding scattered paint brushes, papers, sketch books, note pads, pens and pencils of all shapes and sizes, a very large math book thrown on carelessly. His mother didn't share the same compassion he did for all of his artistic tools, so anytime he left something even an inch outside his door he would find it carelessly thrown onto his desk. It was partly his fault anyway so he couldn't get mad; he simply walked over to the desk, and picked up the hefty book. Under it was a snapped fan paintbrush, and two tubes of popped paint both colors he had enjoyed but never used.
Jason sighed and threw the useless book to the ground as he picked up the brush. He felt a little remorse for his fallen friend. He didn't use this brush for much seeing how he wasn't sure how he was supposed to, but it had been fun to brush across his face while he thought from time to time. The bristles were so thin and soft like a feather. He ran his thumb over them again feeling the soft lick of the brushes end against his finger. He looked down at the popped paint globs and sighed in relief when he saw a stack of papers under it soaking it in, rather than the face of his desk which would have been much harder to clean.
He decided to keep the top of the mangled brush, and stowed the remains in a drawer picking up the now wasted paper and tossed the paint in the trash. The clanking of dishes could be heard from the kitchen so he assumed his mother was cooking dinner easily and all he would have to do now is wait for her to call him. He sat on his bed which was to the right, the covers in a mound in the middle. He lies back on the lump of blanket and felt his back start to untighten and relax along with his shoulders. A deep breath of air fills his lungs and he holds it there a few seconds just savoring the way his lungs tightened and head lightened. Slowly the breath was let out a small sigh fallowing.