Paint You Wings (Jalex)

Chapter 1

People have many different ways to creatively express their thoughts and emotions, whether it be through art, music, acting, etc. Mine just so happened to be through vandilizing public property with my trusty can of spray paint that I always let hide at the bottom of my book bag. Towson and downtown Baltimore were covered in my work, the pieces ranging from dicks to detailed masterpieces. I always made sure my initials, JB, were written underneath them. That's what's caused most of the town to think Justin Bieber did it. Morons.

I don't know how I started doing this. Maybe it was because I hated this town and I wanted to something that's both illegal yet creative at the same time, because everything I do has to be in syle. Maybe it was through pure boredom that I began. Whatever the reason, I've found that it relaxes me and helps me take my mind off of life. It wasn't that it was terrible, it was just... average. Average family, average school grades, average friends, nothing seemed too extraordinary. The slight rush of adrenaline I feel when I begin my graffiti, the notion that the cops may find me, makes me feel a bit excited.

There's been a certain stretch of wall that I've been eyeballing all week. It was a beautiful brick expanse on the side of a building, and it was completely untouched. Well, until this lovely Saturday afternoon, atleast. I was going to take its graffiti virginity.

I had been sitting on my bed, contemplating what I would be creating. I haven't had such a large piece of canvas like this in quite a long time. I wanted this to be breathtaking, and of course it was going to be either which way. I'm Jack Fucking Barakat.

I was finally struck by an ingenious design and, throwing on my tattered Converse and snatching my back pack up, I bolted out of my bedroom door and down the stairs.

When I made it to the front door, bag full of spray paints hanging off of my shoulder, I called out into the house, "Hey, mom, I'm gonna head out for a while."

"That's fine, dear," my mom replied from the living room, "What are you going to be doing?" She questioned.

"I don't know, probably something illegal." I joked.

I heard a snort from the other room, "Alright smartass, just don't get caught." She sassed back.

With a chuckle, I turned the handle and made my way out into the cool Spring air. Taking in a deep breath, I began my trek to my destination.

Excitement bubbled inside of me. I had this sick mural idea, with this kick ass dragon-looking-think and some fire and shit and-what the fuck?!

I had finally reached my destination but, to my dismay, someone had already claimed it. In place of where my fire-breathing reptile was going to reside, there was a sharpie outline of a boy crouching, hands gripping his lowered head, and just looking sad.

Instead of being completely pissed off that some twat claimed my site, an idea immediately popped into my head. Judging by the fact that it was a mere outline, I assumed that the original artist didn't own/couldn't use spray paint. My assumptions could be incorrect and the kid could quite possibly come looking for whoever it was that ruined their piece.

I justified my next move by telling myself that this was my spot in the first place. After setting my iPhone to play some music, I started pulling out the paint cans and lining them up in front of the wall, contemplating what colors to use on this. My mind ended up shutting down, and my hands moved on their own. I picked up a can and began spraying over the piece, filling it in with vibrant colors and adding shading where shading was needed.

After a while, I no longer had to think of what I was doing. All of this came so naturally to me. My mind was at ease as my hands flew through the chemical and color infused air.

Once I had finished, I stepped back to admire my work, hands placed dramatically on my hips. I had made sure to keep as much of the original design as possible, yet still made it look badass. I nodded my head at my talent, but it felt like something was missing.

I walked up closer to the painting, examining the solemn face on the kid. He looked almost as if he were lost, or maybe even trapped inside of his head judging by the way his hands were gripping his hair.

A stroke of inspiration struck me. Me being myself, I decided to add my Jack flair to this, and began making an outline for a pair of feather wings coming out of his back. I allowed my body and mind to do it's thing, and, after about fifteen minutes, the boy had a pair of ghost-like angel wings coming out of his back, but not actually touching.

I rubbed my hands together, smearing the paint all over them instead of actually cleaning them off, and began putting all of my stuff back into my back pack. I took out my original sketch and taped it up next to the masterpiece. I took out a pencil and wrote:

"This was what was originally going to be here, but looks like you beat me to it, so instead I painted you wings." - JB

~runs_on_coffee