It was a normal day in the city of Newark, normal as in the average death count is heard on the news in the morning at 6 am. Normal as in you can already hear a few screams and a gunshot around the vacant neighborhood.

Within Newark, there was an artist painting away at 6 am in his silent apartment. The TV's audio plays in the background but he ignores it as he keeps painting while listening to Morrissey. He hummed to the music and then he'd sing to some of the songs. He dipped his damp paint brush in a color that made him smile. The art kept him sane and comfortable in Newark.

A couple blocks down from the apartment was a neighborhood. Within that neighborhood was a family. A small one. And in that family there was a young teen, only 16, smoking in his room, drawing. Listening to some Black Flag while his mother and her boyfriend yell at him to turn the music down and get ready for school. Little do they know that he has been ready since they went to sleep, 9:30 pm.

---

Genuine artist minds and minds that are alike rarely cross paths as well. These things most usually never happen but when they do, there's a spark between the artists. The artists' worlds could be terribly different and yet they can be totally be the same. Their little worlds could be filled with anything but they can still be empty. They could still have a missing piece. And that is exactly what these two artists are facing.

They're going to face each other, well their artistic minds are going to, they will have an instant spark, they're going to be different yet so much the same, and they'll definitely going to complete their worlds, whether or not they need each other to do so.

---

The man in his apartment, alone, suddenly hears the TV, commercial break, was all he could think. He left his art room and entered the living room and turned the useless box off. The telephone then rang, causing his body to flinch. He walked to the phone and took a deep breath in and then picked the phone up and held it to his ear.

"Hello?" He answered, his voice sounding very shaky.

"Hello Mr. Way, this is your art history professor, Mr. Vendesser." The professor's voice rang into the artist's ears.

"Hello Mr. Vendesser." The artist said.

"Hello, anyways, I was just calling to let you know that the paper you need to write will be due by the end of next week. Understand Mr. Way?" The professor explained.

"Yes sir."

"Alright. Take care. See you tomorrow then."

"Yes sir."

"Bye now."

"Bye."

The phone's dial tone began ringing in the artist's ear and he stood still for another few seconds and then set the phone down. He took another deep breath and returned to what he was actually going to do. Change the album.

He shifted his body to the record player next to the phone and put a new record on. David Bowie's The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust. He drags his body back to his art room and stops at the doorway. He takes one last breath of the clean air before he enters the room filled with paint fumes and toxic cigarette smoke. The artist has thought about opening the window but he's having too much fun getting high off the fumes. He enters the room and walks towards the easel. He smiles at the creation he was creating and then took the cigarette, that was surprisingly still lit, and inserted it between his chapped lips. While he was inhaling the cancer stick he walked to his window and opened the window. A soft fall breeze entered the room and the artist exhaled the smoke out to the outside world. He didn't take another drag but he did inhale the outside air. The smell of pollution entered his nostrils, making him cringe. But the smell washed away within two minutes and he can finally smell and breathe in actual oxygen. He moved his body away from the window and went back to painting.

---

Meanwhile, the young teen was packing his things that were necessary for school. A binder that contained paper that was already written on and some blank with just the blue lines cascading the paper and two red lines printed out vertical. Then two notebooks, one meant for writing his thoughts, songs, or just for a quick poem. And the other meant for a class that required a notebook, which seemed stupid to the teen. Then a sketchbook. He also grabbed his proper necessities, a few pencils, a small pink block eraser, and some pens and markers. Then a few sketch pencils.

"Frankie boy!" The boy's mother's boyfriend screamed.

The teen rolled his eyes at the nickname that the man did not need to use. "Fuck off." He whispered to himself but mostly aimed towards his mother's lover. Then he let the Black Flag continue to play. The record only had two more songs until it stopped.

The young teen, Frank, laid on his wooden floor and looked at the roof of his room. He laid there, straight face and thinking about what he should do next. The last song began to play and he got out of his phase. The boy stood up, took his bag full of supplies and paced around his room. Drying his eyes and practicing a smile. A genuine smile.

"Frank?" A woman's voice was heard from behind the door and two soft knocks. "You gotta get going hun." She said after Frank's no attempt to speak. Footsteps were heard and then faded away as they were going down a stairwell.

The teen sighed and the record stopped. He took the record off from the player and stuck it back in the protective sleeve. He set the vinyl down, next to his other collections of vinyls. He left his room and headed downstairs.

"Good morning honey." His mother, Linda, greeted him. He nodded at her and she smiled. Linda and her boyfriend are used to the teen's silence.

Before Linda's boyfriend could greet the young boy, he left the house and started driving school. Frank smiled at the fact that he left without having to talk to the strange man. The teenager drove the opposite direction of his high school, he wanted a smoke. So, he drove his way to the nearest convenience store - which was only a three minute drive. The moment he arrived, he saw a couple of teenagers hanging in the vacant part of the lot, smoking and talking quietly. They looked at him and nodded, he nodded back.

The boy walked into the shop and grabbed a drink then towards the counter. "Hey Frankie." The cashier greeted him.

Frank smiled, "Hey James."

"Need another pack?" The man behind the counter asked, gesturing to the rows of cancer sticks. The cigarette thirsty teen nodded and smiled.

"Alright, a drink and a pack of cancer sticks - 7.96."

The young boy gave him a ten and the cashier quickly gave him his change back. James waved goodbye and Frank did so back. Frank then got into his car and lit a cig up. He rolled down his window and smoked for a few minutes then started up his car engine.

The teenager then drove to his school, smoking his life away, and wondering what the teachers have set up for the sophomores and freshman. The moment he pulled up to the school, his mood changed. There was a bus, possibly meant for a field trip. And that meant to Frank that he could leave to go to the bathroom but actually end up smoking for a bit. The boy smiled at the freedom he was about to have but he was interrupted by the bell ringing.

He exited his car and crushed his cigarette butt and walked inside the school.

Notes

I like to write new thing and I was feeling inspired! So here's a story by me (weenie) and yeah...hope you guys will enjoy this

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