A Glitched Soul [ErrorXInk]

Chapter Five - Thought

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After much, much thought and a lot pacing around the living room in his home, Ink still hadn't made up his mind on his next plan of action to try and connect and speak to the glitch. After reading through the files and lines of codes a few more times, trying to figure out what he could possibly try next, nothing seemed to be popping up in the creator's head, no matter how hard he tries to think of something. He continued his pacing, stomping at points when he got frustrated, not knowing what to do. He had to do something, he hated procrastinating like this - trying to come up with something, anything. Usually the artist wasn't so at a loss of ideas but today he weirdly was. 

He put his hands to his head and groaned loudly in frustration, rubbing his temples with his half gloved hands. His irritation echoed throughout his empty and quiet house, getting absorbed into the painted walls to never be heard again, only in memory if it ever occurs. After a few more paces back and forth in his living room, Ink eventually decided to take a break and walk into the kitchen for a small change in scenery. 

He walked over to the sink and took a small glass from the side, turning on the cold tap and filling the cup with the sound of fresh water hitting he bottom of the glass. He watched it fill and turned the tap off when it filled half of the glass. The artist then drank the cooling liquid, feeling it refresh himself as he did so. He breathed deeply as the glass emptied and he put it back down on the side, calming himself down from his anger of no thought. 

"Maybe I can..." He tried to force out a thought before shaking his head, "no, that wouldn't work." He put his hands on his hips as he thought. "Or maybe I can... No, that would't work either." The artist mumbled as one hand went up to his chin and held it, one eye a blue question mark and the other a blue square to match. He continued to do this for about two minutes before realising it was getting the creator nowhere. Sighing, he left the kitchen, went through the living room and up the stairs to the second floor. He walked down the hall for a moment and walked into the second door (made of oak) and into his bedroom.

Once inside of his bedroom he pushed the door closed, hearing the small click behind him before walking away, making sure it actually closes and doesn't just bounce off the doorway like annoying doors sometimes do. The creator slipped his shoes off and pushed them to the side, allowing his white, paint splattered bones to hit the soft, light purple carpet below him. He walked across the room to the open window on the other side just above his working desk, covered in paints, pencils, paper, whatever you could think of. 

He sat on his black swivel chair and scooted the wheels forward closer to the desk, reaching over the light, birch desk to get to the window. Ink grabbed the handle and pulled the window shut, stopping the now cold air from filling up the once warm bedroom. It was late and the night time air was getting a bit to chilly. Usually he liked the cold air and the stars and the moon but tonight he was just stressed out and needed to think. The creator clicked the window closed and locked it.

Ink sighed for probably the hundredth time today as he sat back on his chair comfortably. "What have I gotten myself into?" He asked the empty room, or maybe asking himself, perhaps asking Error but he wasn't there to answer. "What am I going to do? What is there to do?" He kept asking himself these questions, not getting any sort of answers. Ink led his head back on the chair and stared up at the ceiling, ever wondering and ever thinking about all sorts of possibilities and scenarios, the bad things and the good things. All sorts of things really.

"Maybe I should just go to bed." He told himself, talking casually to himself and only himself as he had currently no one else to say it to. He leaned forward on his seat before standing up, shrugging his small jacket off and taking off his scarf to place it to the side. After folding it slightly so it wouldn't be creased by morning, he walked back to the door to turn the light off - the light switch being next to the door, on the hinge side awkwardly enough. Now, the only light that was shining in the room was from the moon coming from the window behind the desk.