Jude was sitting the the living room area of the hut, staring at his new box of paints and brushes and markers, charcoal, and a whole load of stuff that Jude was giddy having. It had been just sitting there a day ago, and ever since sketching a few things down, he couldn't figure out what he wanted to do. He glanced from his box to the blank wall,
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Every so often, he would look back at Lucy, giving her a smile sometimes, but more likely hardly noticing she was alive unless she moved positions. The paint strokes felt like freedom against the wall. God, he missed this, the feeling of paint beneath a brush, or even the feeling on the paint dripping onto his hands absently. The features of her face start to become clear, the only thing left undefined were her eyes. He was going to save them for last.
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