He walks with a paintbrush tied to his ankle
Paint dripping from it every so often
No one knows how he gets the color in the brush,
The color just comes out
Sometimes red
Sometimes green
Sometimes brown
Most of the time the color is blue
It's assumed that it's his favorite
No one really knows

I see him sometimes
In the hallways, between classes
I see him outside
Wandering in both body and mind
Whenever I see him,
He smiles,
Grimly,
As if he's uncertain about what's coming.
Uncertain about everything.

As I pass him, I look back on the color
It's always purple
Every time without a doubt
Sometimes it's light
Like lavender is assumed to be
And other times it's dark
Like the plant actually is
But it's always purple.

One day the color disappeared.
It would flash black from time to time.
But that's it.
Except, around me,
It would go back to purple.
Even if it was just for a moment
I still saw the purple.

There was another kid
Who seemingly got the color to change
It would go from black to red to white in a minute's time,
That's what everybody said.
But that kid never saw anything in him.
Which was really sad.

The one kid who he was paying attention to
Wasn't acknowledging him back
The color drained away
Seemingly quicker
Than before

I saw him a few more times before the end
We walked to my house a few times
We had mutual friends
We saw each other after school

When it happened it was, overly sudden.
But it was a big deal.
Especially to me.

The end was rough.
And not everyone made it out.

Certainly not the kid with the paintbrush.

-PTXness