Graffiti King

James was just a normal person, every day was the same, he caught the same train and went to university the same. Until one specific day, the same was different, that day he became someone else, someone he had abandoned years ago, he became himself.

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1. The Tree

Act 1 - Revolution

"The brush touched the page, his tiny hand holding a massive tool, almost seemed too heavy for the tiny fist, but when he moved the bristles, there was an art to it, not just the painting, the strokes, the way he moved, it flowed. And so did the painting. That's art, not the painting itself, but the way it was made..."


Chapter 1 ~ The Tree

   His station was near, in about 12 seconds the train would begin to slow and that was his cue to stand and leave, taking the back exit, it was closest to the stairs. His fingers drummed on the train seat impatiently, it was all about saving time, the fastest and quickest route to his destination. That was the mini-game he played everyday, the only thing that kept him sane from this bleak grey world.

   Exactly the same as yesterday, the same 8:54 train that same screech when the brakes were pulled, the same carriage, the same place, nothing ever changed. The only difference that held from day to day, was the weather, but even that was mostly rain.

   As soon as he stepped down onto the platform, James frowned, something was different, and it wasn't just the weather, he flicked his eyes around, nothing seemed different, yet something was. He felt something calling him, tugging at his conscious, telling him to go the other way, not towards the stairs where his route took him, but towards the other side of the platform.

   He stopped, glancing at the shiny rolex watch that grasped his wrist. He was running out of time, if he deviated too long from his routine he'd be late, for the first time even.

   He stepped towards the stairs, trying to shake the odd feeling off, he wasn't about to break a streak today. That's when the question arose. When had he integrated into this boring daily routine? When had he become one of them? Mindless, doing the same movements over and over till death. He stepped away from the stairs hastily. When had he fallen into the trap known as life? Fearful he stepped away, people gave him odd glances, he was starting to stand out.

   When you forget the feeling of standing out, thats when you know, you stopped being different. You became normal, suddenly he blinked, his eyes stared at everything again, as if for the first time. Everything seemed like a threat now, some sort of unknown danger. Was he going mad? who tricked him into this routine? Into repetition, day after day, without even him realising.

   He blinked away the fear, it changes now, today will be different, today not the stairs, today he will be late. Today he was going to see what called him.

   James followed his instinct, it drew him towards the other side of the platform, the train on that side had just left the station when he finally saw it, the thing that had bothered his daily routine.

   The thing that saved him from it.

   His eyes widened, his muscles throbbed, and his heart hammered in his chest, his mind went into overdrive, no one saw what he saw, or even if they did, they didn't see it the way he did.

   To anyone else's eye, it was just a good piece of graffiti, already workers were painting over it, destroying such a perfection of art, for James it held much more meaning than just the work of some thug with a few spray cans.

   What he saw was a tree, with a hundred leaves. The thing was, the leaves that held onto the branches and the leaves that were flying were opposite, the ones that flew were live and green leaves, and the ones that held on, were dying, eventually falling, never flying.

   A long forgotten quote came to his mind in that moment. The quote burned in his mind, meaningless when he had heard it before, but now it made perfect sense.

  He smiled, his eyes glinting in the sunlight, that's right, he used to be good at art, maybe its time to bring that part of him back. He thought, as he watched perfection get covered by the city's bleak grey. The quote burned stronger than ever.

   "Everyone dies, but not everyone lives."

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