The reds spilled out of the can onto the pallet tempting him, tempting him. But the brush in his hand wouldn’t move no matter how hard he will it to swing and swirl. All was black, even his breath. All was not well, his chin drooped and a tear rolled down his cheek. No green greeted his eyes as they shifted to the window. Bare trees with branches broken. Craggy grey sky. No one walking by . . . Or anywhere. Even the quiet was black. His eyes shut. His heart wept and wept. When his eyes finally opened, they could hardly absorb the vibrant colors that had filled his canvas.