Imagine

Picture your brain as a canvas, and your thoughts a myriad of colours, formed up nicely on a glossy palette.

If someone were to commission a brain painting from you, what would yours be compromised of?

I pick up the paintbrush, formed by the events, people, person, in my life, and dab it in the colours. A few quick, deft motions of the hand, the brush playing across the canvas and the picture slowly coming to life.

Rays of light emit from parts of the picture, as if it held a sun beneath it and there were cracks on its surface.

The picture emits a glow, one that draws people close to it and fills them with a sense of happiness and causing them to want to be closer to this picture.

The picture grows a voice, and with the sweet tinkling sound of this melodious voice, the masses are enthralled and draw closer.

A lone shadow stands at the corner of the picture, biding its time and having no other wish than to strike down the masses and have the picture all to itself.

It draws its sword, but the people ... seem to complement the picture, making it complete, and the shadow realizes that he cannot force this thing that he envisions to happen, for it would take away the beauty of the picture.

The shadow retreats, into the safety and yet unsatisfactory conditions of wherever he came from.

The picture, it remains a perfect picture.