Camilles Airballoon Easle Engine.
He did the best he could to paint the side of the train as transpearant as possible. The wide angle focus his eyes indulged themselves in, made the young man quite dizzy. He put his brush down for a moment, and sat down indian style. He began rubbing the arch of his left foot. A muted note slid softly into his consciouse, delicately floating to the edge of his mouth where the pressure finally pushed out a solid humming in the key of F. A frightening ring much too vulgar for accompanyment broke his healthy hum. He let the machine get it. The voice was a voice he immediately recognized. Camilles words poored out of the speaker in the same key he was just humming. Her voice showing age, trembled out the monologue that didnt get either of them any where closer or further from anything really. He sat still, having stopped rubbing his foot minutes ago, he stared at the large window clothed with thick red velvet curtains. Curtains that would leave no hope of light in the room if it wasnt for the tiny blinking green light of his answering machine and the hot air balloon nightlight plugged into an outlet near his easle, giving him enough light to paint. The young man slowly got up and walked over to the phone to erase the message. He then started towards the window to see what part of the day he would find himself in. While approaching the window the man did not have any idea of what time of the day it may be, considering lately he found it extremely difficult to measure such an impossible thing like time. When the man reached the window he pulled the curtain back letting the dusks heat quickly rape his face. From the second floor window the man saw a row of Cypress trees in the median, running through the street in front of his appartment. The sun, escaping his periphery, appeared to be half devoured by the trees. The man focused on the sun until it began to sting his eyes a bit. He let the curtain drop creating a darkness manicly pillaging the room again. The man walked over towards the canvas humming the most somber F one could conjure. His hum was one that delicately wavered over the note he shared with Camille. After some focus the man was just about finished with his transpearant train. as the last few strokes fell upon the canvas, something else began to find its way through him. Unlike the notes he hummed this came up quick and begged to be released. after a severe coughing spell the man's engine of a stomache propelled his throat to quickly pull its self inside out. This quick gesture left what was left of him completely tangled and turned, involved totally with its self.