InsaneJournal

Without his instruments to play - not that he would play them if he still could - Josh's therapist had commissioned a painting. It was non-negotiable and was due at the end of the week. Outlets were outlets for a reason, apparently. And if Josh could best communicate only through creative expression, then expression was going to be seen to. Whether or not Josh liked it.

Generally, Josh had music playing in the background when he painted. But music no longer held any allure. So he let his thoughts feed his white noise.

He'd been working for three days. Seeing to his mandatory studio time. The requirement wasn't putting any undue stress on his schedule. So he couldn't try and wiggle out of it. Surprisingly, the painting was coming along solidly. He wasn't losing anything between his breaks of class, meals, practice and sleep. If anything, it seemed to be forming faster.

He pulled the brush against the canvas, blue swirling with the darker shades. Layers of it. One upon another spanning the entire canvas from corner to corner. He wasn't ready to touch the central figure. Wasn't ready to admit it to himself yet. That would be last. He still had time.