Canvas 4

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The book he was reading was left unfinished on the table beside the couch. The table was something an ex of his from years ago was trying to get rid of. He liked that the simple furniture came with a story. On the table (it was quite small) was a stack of three half-filled notebooks (composition since he’s left handed), two empty bottles (the labels ripped off, but probably lagers), a brush for his cat (yellow). He left the book because he had an idea for something (more of a fraction of a thought), so he went upstairs and sat in front of the blank canvas.

His friend earlier in the day at work had showed him a beautiful watercolor. The image was of a whale, with it’s inner workers on display, but instead of pink masses making up the monstrosity it was cold steel and gears. The image was ingrained in his head. His friend said the artist combined watercolor with colored pencils.

He was determined to start off with colored pencils (clueless as to what he was doing). Hours passed, he shrugged. The next day, after work, he sat down again. Hours passed (more shrugging occurred).

In the end he realized he’d wasted the canvas. The image in his head wouldn’t come out the way it was supposed to. His hands just weren’t working. He discarded the canvas (discarded means placed/crammed into the garbage).

The next day (Saturday) he went to the store and bought a new canvas. Determined to try again.

Fiction writer. Coffee enthusiast. Writer of romance, mystery, and humor. Discover more at and

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