Originally posted on Wednesday, February 11, 2009 on myspace.com
Steven started drawing people on his walls when he was in kindergarten.
Every couple of years Steven’s parents would have to paint his walls again so he could draw more people.
They would always pick a different thick pastel color to try to discourage this act; but he always persisted.
Steven’s talent grew with him as he progressed in years, the people growing more realistic as time passed.
Steven’s mother and father began to grow weary of these drawings, the eeriness of the realism kept Steven’s parents from entering his room.
The year that Steven died from a horrible case of pneumonia, Steven’s father painted over his walls one last time.
This time it was a permanent color that would mask the fact that a talented boy had ever once lived in the room.
It was black.
The room was no longer bright and pastel with people on the walls.
They moved all of Steven’s things from his room and burned them, never wanting to be pained by the thought of the boy whose talent they ignored again.
Every night, they would sit in the middle of Steven’s old floor, and listen to the voices of the people talking behind the paint.
Thousands of unique voices, all talking at once.
Steven’s entire universe.
3 years later, Steven’s parents decided to draw one last person.
One last smiling boy.
And so they drew the best they could, a life sized portrait of their son shining in the midst of the black void.
So every night, he could talk too.