The Painter (1)

“Dear God, Aston! I am beginning to think of your plan to dethrone the devil as the prince of darkness. This place is as dark as the vanta black and as cold as the devil’s heart,” Steve said suddenly at the moment he entered Aston’s room.

Unbuttoning his blazer, he sat on the only vacant chair in the room facing the rather unfazed Aston, “Need I remind you that the world—outside this abode of yours—is still beautiful and would be delighted to be graced with your presence.”

For the first time since Steve entered Aston’s room, he turned his gaze away from the slightly opened window where he’s spent most of his time peeking out into the universe of form to look at the only person who seemed to understand him better than anyone else.

“Have you ever felt the world is against you? That even mother nature laughs at your misfortune?” Aston said with a pallid and toneless quality to his voice.

He walked away from the window where he had been standing for what seemed like forever to take a seat