Magical Paint - 3


“I like big butts and I cannot lie…”

Somebody’s cell phone rang out embarrassingly loudly, heard by everyone in the entire train cart. A few giggles were heard. Everybody shifted their eyes from whatever they were doing and looked about, some taking out their own to make sure it wasn’t theirs.

I was shaken half awake from the noise, blinking sleepily for a few moments before realizing that the thing singing was my own cell. It jolted me wide awake. DAMN. What the hell? Surreptitiously I reached into my bag. It died down with a whine. Anyone who had had their interest piqued now went back to whatever task they had previously occupied themselves with. Somebody sniffed. The train was silent once more.

Making sure nobody was looking at me too closely I gently lifted my bag flap and took my cell out, all the while pretending to be deeply interested in a Pantene poster. It was an old Nokia, slightly scratched and dented, dust frozen behind the screen worn smooth. I flipped through the menus. A text. Like the ringtone? I had to go through the trouble of downloading into your crappy cell and changing the settings, all while you were gone to the bathroom. A bunch of goofy emotes followed the short message. Must’ve been Alec. That rat-faced kid. I made a face. I’ll kill him for this, that stupid-

Somebody sniffed again.

Sighing quietly I slipped my cell back into the bag. It made contact with something, emitting a rather loud thunk. What? I peered in. I shifted through all my junk. Scarf, receipts, sketchbook, papers, just lots of useless crap, then my cell, lying next to a-

I wrinkled my brow. What in the world?

It was a wooden paintbrush.


“Well, whadaya know. He’s found it already!”

“Technically speaking, it found him.

“Come on, that’s so cliché. What’s he doing?”

“He seems to be inspecting it. I don’t think he has any idea what it is.”

“Seems pretty confused about it.”

“Go on, then, do something! Make a situation!”

“I’ve been on that for a while now. See that other guy, standing about ten feet away from him?”

“Who, hairy?”

“Yeah. He’s my alibi.”

“No way. You’ve set it up already.”

“Just in case.”

“So, what now?”

“You’ll see. Our man here will do something that will put our little protagonist on the spot. Crisis. Then we’ll see the extent of his power.”

“Psh. Always a step ahead. You’re just trying to suck up to boss, aren’t you?”

“Stop spitting into the screen.”

“All right, now what do I do?”

“Watch and learn.”


How the hell did this get in my bag? It was an ordinary brush. A bit large, with soft horse hair on one end with a handle made of cheap-looking wood. I don’t recall buying this. Suddenly I held it away from me. Maybe it was another stupid prank, courtesy of Alec el Retardo. I peered suspiciously at it, trying to maybe get something out of the whorls on the wood. Nothing. Just a random paintbrush lying in the bag. Oh well, I thought, slipping it into my bag and squirming into my seat in an attempt to get some more sleep before arriving at the station, needed a new one anyway-

Someone sniffed again. Irritably so.

I cracked open an eye and looked at the source of the noise. It was a tall and lanky teenager, his shaggy dark brown hair covered by a rather worn hood. One of his eyes peered through the mass of hair and it was nervously darting back and forth, possibly memorizing the muddy footprints on the ground. His mouth seemed to be silently moving. Strange. Probably some stoner kid who’s about to get his ass kicked by his mom when he gets home.  

I almost turned my head to close my eyes when something caught my attention. An bulge in the kid's left sweater pocket. Somehow the irregular shape seemed strangely familiar. That's odd. My vision moved from his pocket, to his hand, which was clutching whatever was in his pocket so tightly that his knuckles were white, to his arm, to his face. Behind his mane of hair his eyes were closed now, and he was rhythmically breathing in and out. He seemed at peace.

Concentrated. Almost as if he were finalizing a decision-

My heart almost stopped. No way in hell-



He pulled back his hood, eyes dancing wildly, and fired a shot at the low train cart ceiling.

Sparks fell. People screamed.



The End

10 comments about this story Feed