Furlough

Hiroshi sat at his desk; the only light of the room provided by the lamp on the work place. It was getting late and the only thing on his mind was the blank sheet sitting in front of him. His art teacher had tasked his class an easy assignment, yet he lacked inspiration.

"It needs to represent you and your feelings," she directed.

"Make sure it's creative; something I've never seen before!" she continued.

The only problem was that Hiroshi didn't know much about himself. Yes, he knew what he liked and disliked, but he couldn't describe himself further than that.

Hiroshi was annoyed to say the least. He was tired of his busy day at school, but he knew that he needed to get a good grade for the homework or he would fail. So, he thought about ways to overcome his blank sheet syndrome. Maybe his parents could help him? He went to pick up his phone from the nightstand only to remember that they were still at work. "Great," he groaned to himself. What could he do now? He had no other lead to creativity than to draw without purpose. He would see where that lead him. He could always get another sheet if he disliked the final result anyway.

He took his pencil and started to apply graphite on paper. He had no idea what he was doing, but that wasn't the point. He was letting himself go one step at a time. A confused line added itself over another, and another, and so on. Hiroshi's mind left his homework and wandered inside his maze of a brain. Everything it found would leave a mark on the sheet, making it a few shades darker.

After a while, his movements got passionate. His emotions got the best of him and his pace quickened. A memory : a line; an emotion : a shape; each of his worries : a face. Soon, Hiroshi's heart began to ache. Everything hurt. He couldn't stop drawing. He tried dropping the pencil, but it kept dancing on the page. His cheeks felt hot and his eyes burned. His fingers were getting sore and his pencil wouldn't allow him to stretch or drink water to ease his dry throat. He drew and drew for hours until the tears stopped streaming down his face and his mind went blank; freed from his emotions and back to a calmer state of mind. He was relieved from everything. He had finally dropped his guard down along with all of his problems. Hiroshi took a step back and looked at his drawing as a whole. It was a masterpiece. On his desk laid the mess of a pencil, a hand and a disturbed mind.

His work honestly looked horrifying. Agonizing expressions, reaching hands and fearful eyes stared back at him. The tension built in the room during the night was captured by the piece, resulting in its appearance. Hiroshi finally picked up his feelings and put them into his art folder, a faint smile painting his face.

He chose to tittle his work "Furlough."