I eagerly race to the book, excited to see what she had placed in the next page for only me to see.

I tore past the previous pages to find a man, dressed all in black with his face covered, menacingly ripping a backpack from a girl who is cowering on the ground, too weak to defend herself. The atmosphere of the picture is...it's a bit terrifying. Mostly because I think that he represents me. The colors that surround the foreground are of deep crimson red; complemented by greys and by blacks that are capable of sucking the color out of the page entirely.

I frown at it. It's quite marvelous, no doubt. But I just wish she wouldn't see me in that way. I really am not evil or menacing.
***

Dear Victim of My Crime,
I'm sorry that you see me that way. I believe that it is reasonable of you to think of me as someone you should fear. Although, I'd rather you not, personally. I did return your art supplies, did I not? Additionally, we have this exchange of masterpieces going on. I do wish to meet the artist who creates life on this dreary paper. Perhaps you shall stay when you return the sketchbook? If you do not wish to meet me in person, in a non-crime-related situation, feel free to leave the sketchbook on its own.
P.s. I do wish you would consider it.
Salutations,
Sword Thief

I skim over the note and my new picture carefully once again, just to make sure that they are ridiculous. I do admit, the eloquence in the note is a tad excessive, but, I'd rather sound like a college graduate than a scary thief. I place the note inside the sketchbook and return it to the drop spot. I really do hope I can meet her.