The two women vanished once more.
I was left alone in the unmoving train, almost in shock, the pencil and sketchbook in one hand, the brush in the other.
My brain was trying hard to process everything that had happened in the past two minutes.
I was sitting there. Alec sent me a stupid text. I discovered some brush. Next thing I know, some psycho druggie is shooting at the air, so I scream and duck. Time freezes. Two weird ladies pop out of nowhere and start bugging me.
I kick druggie in the balls, time seems to start again. Druggie points gun at my head, time freezes again and weird ladies appear once more. One of them pulls a cell out of her ass and starts taping me all the while some weird person gives orders.
And now here I am, sketching something while holding this godforsaken brush while I could be saving everybody's necks here.
I glanced at my sketchbook.
Despite the situation, I was rather impressed at the level of detail I had managed to capture the situation in. In fact... what the hell? There was no way I could have done this in half a minute.
Try painting out of the Brush.
Holding the brush, I breathed in rather reluctantly, remembering that my possible death was merely a meter away from my head. I placed the brush against one of the train's window panes in the sheet, and moved it to the right. I must have been out of my mind to be doing this at such dire situation. Streeeak.
There was a slight shimmering path where the brush had made contact with the smudgy paper, and I took a sharp breath. Almost as if a layer of gray had been lifted out of the paper, where the brush had touched it had left a spectral trail of color. Tunnel light now flashed in through the window where previously rough lines of graphite were, and the metal framing around it seemed almost lifelike. One of the seats was now bright red. A few posters, half gray scale and now half brilliant with color, peeked from the right.
What in the world?
The trail shimmered. Then it vanished, leaving a gaping white spot in the sketch.
In a similar fashion, this time I moved the brush to the top left corner of the page. Left to right, left to right. I covered the entire page until the paper seemed to almost vibrate with color. It was as if I'd taken a picture of the scene right now and had pasted it into the sketchbook. The kid's gaunt face stared at me. Involuntarily I shivered.
The scene vanished from the page, leaving the paper looking clean and unused. I shoved the brush into my coat pocket and with shaking fingers touched the paper. Dry. Smooth. As if a pencil had never touched it.
I jerked my head back to the kid's face, standing up. This time I made no sudden movements. I slowly circled around until I was behind him. Almost as if his sweater would explode upon touching him, I placed both of my palms an inch from his back, reared backwards, and shoved with all my might.
My hands made contact, there was a solid feeling, and then they fell through as if the kid had suddenly vanished. There was a sudden explosion of noise as I shouted in surprise, falling, falling... and hit the ground. My wrists felt as if they had been shattered.
Blinking away tears of pain I tried to regain my senses when I realized I was sitting in the bottom of the tunnel floor along with half the passengers of the trains, all of them groaning in pain. I stared in shock. The train itself seemed to have been sliced clean in half by some massive sort of blade. Stunned passengers peeked out from within, some dialing emergency numbers on their cells. Shouts could be heard.
Suddenly remembering, I jerked my head around to look for the kid. Nowhere to be seen.
Did I just...?
Before I knew it, the two women had appeared again, this time inches from where I lay.
The blond one put her hand over my eyes. I felt the ground slip away from beneath me.
"Go to sleep, my pretty."
Something fell out of my coat pocket...