Painting from the Soul

I released my grip on the pen reluctantly and swept up the hodgepodge of papers, strewn across my desk. A small, round object toppled miscellaneously atop the mountain of paperwork, accumulating around me. I threw a pointed stare toward my open window, and scrambled over towers of documents, dodging mismatched furniture and sashaying past makeshift books. I slammed the awaiting glass pane shut and inaudibly drew the curtains, scanning my familiar surroundings. I investigated the area, setting invisible tripwires. While doing so, I threw up a shield of compressed air- that held any sound emitted- a prisoner.

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