A Scribble For The Soul – Short Story

“Sinful discoloration of the darkest corners bleeds life into your images, and in that darkness I see something that leads me to believe the infection that ravages every cell of your body has twisted its way into your mind. If you look at the drawings you happily scribbled when you first joined us here, you can see they consisted of a completely different palate than the one you use now,” he says flicking through the small pile of drawings that sit upon his desk, before looking up at him again. “Tell me what has changed?”

“Nothing’s changed,” he says quickly, his voice void of emotion.

“Then explain to me the change in style and colours?”

“No one wants to be a one trick pony their entire life. I felt it was time to try something different. Challenge myself.”

“There is no challenge being wagered here, there is only disease. Talk to me, I am the only one who can help you harness the energy you wield helplessly and shape it into something wonderful. Something that could heal your broken self.”

“When I came here, it was by self admittance. I know as do you, that I can walk out that door right now and there is nothing you could do to stop me, because fundamentally there is nothing wrong with me. However,  I’m happy to hide here away from their prying eyes, so I can buy time until I’m written back into the story. What I don’t want is for you, some second-rate afterthought, to challenge my role. You are nothing in this story, in fact you are less than nothing. You’re an invention to suit a need that will be utilized sooner than you think,” he says as he looks around the room, silhouetted by the light behind him. “Can’t you feel it?” He asks leaning forward in his seat, into the light of the sun. “They’re coming, both of them are and we all don’t stand a chance,” Gareth says with a twisted smile.

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