The Artist.

The ring of smoke curled up towards the ceiling.He let loose his long hair and they fell on to his face.He loved it's silky touch.He peered across the steel bars.He did not want to get caught for smoking.He hated the complications,that usually ensued."Nothing.", he murmured to himself.

The wall behind him was splashed with colours.Pots of paint lay all across the small,dingy smoke filled room.He slowly turned his head and took a peek.The wall was the one thing that made sense to him.There were a lot of other things that did not make sense to him.Emotions.Pain.But,the wall always made sense.

There were all those stuff that he had painted.He had grown comfortable with them.But,some of them were really nasty.There was that red-pupiled eye,for instance.He was always afraid of that one.It continuously stared at him and strayed itself all over his body.However,he had painted a solid,iron box over it.The red-pupiled eye kept gasping,of course.But,he never opened it and it wilted and dissolved.

The slender and long fingers,he quite liked.They were exquisite.They often waved at him.Sometimes,it would run itself through his long,silky hair.His hairs would then stand erect and little irregularities would appear on his skin.People called them goosebumps.He felt good.But,one day it tried to run away.Not that it could.He wouldn't let it go.And,he made it agree.Over time,it became a bit shrivelled.But,that was okay.He had it all for himself.

And,the wall was made up of such intricate things,that he loved and feared.It was his masterpiece.He told them that he was an artist.And they gave him the paint and brushes.And he had made his masterpiece.They said that expressing his talent might improve him.It did.He was proud of his masterpiece.He felt satisfied.As if life finally sprung onto him, the meaning of his very existence.

"Thump.Thump.Thump."It was the patrol coming in.He stopped smoking and waved away the remnants of that lingering aroma.He hated the patrol guy.He hated his long moustache.He was always cruel to him.The noises became louder and louder and suddenly,a long baton poked him in the stomach.They usually expected him to feel it.But,his muscles hardly reacted."Sonova bitch."the patrol guy yelled at him.He snickered.He must have heard,for the pokes started to become more fast and rhythmic.Such beauty and precision.

And,then the patrol guy went away.As usual,all the poking must have made him tired.He laughed and picked up his brush.He could hear a faint murmur inside his head.He dipped the brush in the pot and started painting in a frenzy.The universe disappeared before him.There was only him and the wall.

He finally stopped and started smiling.He had done justice again.The new addition to the wall was mesmerizing,a creation which would definitely catch attention.

The moustache and the baton.

He was glowing inward,with the artistic pride,as they called it.