The Story I Paint, The Story You Chase

Belleville, New Jersey was the perfect place for crime. Most turned the other cheek, others not. It was perfect because as long as it was minor, nobody gave a rat's ass about it. Especially not in the cold autumn weather when the leaves where being whipped off trees by the breath of the north wind. It wasn't the most pleasant when the clouds rolled in and covered the sky in a grey taint and hid the beauty of the vast mix of colours. It was the time of year where the trees were going stark and began to look like something out of a horror film that would later scare the poor little ones out of sleeping. They were the trees that tapped your window violently in the middle of the night. They didn't conceal... They simply... They simply stayed and watched, looming over the streets, the people, the dogs, and squirrels, taunting everyone and everything about how they couldn't hide in them.
Generally, the sky would start weeping for the cold weather, and harsh conditions were right around the frozen corner of River Road, high up in the state, much farther from Belleville. Belleville is like a subdivision to Newark or something, at least it seems like it on maps. Belleville got snow, earlier than some, much later than other cities. It was perfect for plans to unfold.
I guess that's why I sat in my study, staring out the window and into the city. My home wasn't much to others but it was beautiful and it had a large space. I had a loft all to myself. A beautiful loft covered in art, movie posters, album covers, and just in general, plants. The walls were a dull grey while the floor was a dark hardwood. Everything was connected, and the place even came with a metal divider for my room. It's just a metal panel that I decorated to make it seem nice, and to have some privacy for my room. I had a brick wall in my apartment that I used for all sorts of art. Most of it was on canvases or on comic panels. My kitchen consisted of a small bar, to which a counter was attached, across from it another counter with a sink, fridge beside, and under all that were cabinets to hold all sorts of things. I had a stove and a dishwasher located where the bar was so nobody could see. Parallel to the kitchen was a wall with six large windows going across it. On the window sill there were all these little potted cacti or plants. Right in the middle of the two middle windows, in the center of the room was the living area. A white shaggy carpet with a glass coffee table was right in between a couch, and two oddly formed chairs. One was like a brown lounge chair, and the other was this deep red chair that looked like a hand. The whole apartment consisted of browns, whites, greys, and reds, occasionally a bit of black here and there. I thought it out very well. I had this pillar a few feet from the door, and I hug fairy lights from it to create a more airy look to the place, and it also served as where you'd put your shoes if you walked in. From the door, to your left, despite it being wide open, was my work space. Gas fireplace against the wall, bookshelf above filled with books about art, artists, general novels, comic books, and bands. I had a record player in the corner and a cupboard that I took the door off of, filled with records. I had an off white vintage work desk with a Macbook on it and a lamp. I had a drawing tablet to hook up to the computer and hundreds of comic panels. You see, my job wasn't crap, and I got paid pretty well, but I wanted to do so much more with my life than just working for Cartoon Network and approving and occasionally pitching ideas.
It's Wednesday and I was finishing up my comic idea. I sighed and rubbed my forehead, frustrated with my ideas and how they weren't good enough. "Fuck..." I sighed and pushed my chair back and got up. I was about to get another cup of coffee when I decided against it. Instead I picked up my beat up converse, my leather jacket, beanie, and duffel bag filled with cans of spray paint. I wanted a break. I picked up my keys, walked out the door, locked my apartment and left. I wasn't going to stress over this one pitch. I needed fresh ideas, and my frustration out. I walked out into the cold Jersey night and made my way to an alley I've been wanting to spray paint for a while. My hobby wasn't too legal, but my art was never taken down. In fact, I was the most famous graffiti artist in New Jersey. I felt good about it. Once I reached the alley, I started a new work. The wall was a blank canvas and I was the one with the brush. I pulled out a can of paint, shook it up, and started creating long even lines. I painted about large corporations restricting artistic creativity. A man sat at a desk with paint, a taller man with the word corporate over his eyes handing him a black and white paper stood behind him, and a stack of colourful paintings labeled rejects were scattered all over. It took a few hours but I was nearly done. I was about to start one more line but I stepped back and looked over my work. It was good. Impressive even. I was very fond of my work so I packed up and started to walk home.
The trip home was tiresome. A little boring. I wished so much for something- anything to happen. That night I went to bed having this longing to be good enough, to have someone tell me I was doing something right. I can't do things right... I never managed to. I wanted and needed that pitch to go through once I finished it. I wish- I wish I had someone. Someone to live with... Someone who'd help me... Someone who would end my loneliness. I couldn't think properly.
I wasn't normally one to complain, but when the feeling of loneliness took over, it was irreplaceable, it wasn't even questionable. It took over slowly and then ate me alive. I was empty inside, and despite having this beautiful apartment and working for CN, I wasn't fulfilled. I felt like I was missing something. I got out of bed, made coffee and went to work. I tried to sleep but there wasn't avail. I started to write a script for a comic I decided to call The Umbrella Academy. I worked out the characters months ago, now it was script time. I started out with how the babies were born, and then I started having ideas of how Vanya became the White Violin. My ideas didn't seem to end after this. It was so well thought out for a 3 am idea. I opened my laptop, and turned it on, logging onto twitter.

I'm writing a comic called The Umbrella Academy. Very excited. I hope to share it with you.

I hit send and watched as a few people replied, favourited, and retweeted. I wasn't too well known on twitter, but I had drawn a few things from inspiration from songs, and I sent them to the band. The band retweeted and tweeted at me and now here I am with a small fanbase. I kept my twitter open but worked on the comic nonetheless, not getting distracted.
By the time it was 6 am, I grew tired and decided to get some sleep. I had to be in for my job at around 9. I wouldn't want to miss work, or get fired. I packed up my things, drew all the curtains closed even though it was still fairly dark outside, brushed my teeth, and headed to bed. This time I fell asleep without a worry.

Notes