Quentin Michael Rosso IV
Day 001 || Sept. 4, 2015
Simplicity.
That was what Quentin loved the most. Simplicity in its finest form. Grace in subtle movements, the clear proceedings of lines and curves, the ever gradual transition from innocent white to an ashen grey. All with accidental purpose. Utmost simplicity.
Quentin paused for a moment eyes, the pencil between his fingers twirling and tilting. Around, up, down, around once more. Then, after a breath or two, his pencil was back to dancing, a trail of grey footprints in its wake. Long, dark strokes arcing through the scalp. Soft grey irises beneath a hard, piercing stare. Long nose, soft lips, no name. Who was she? No one, yet someone. She had life, but was lifeless. A soul in a soulless medium. But who was she? She was a nameless girl carved with softened rocks on a dead lead to cure boredom.
How dull. Quentin sighed and finally set down the pencil, glancing at the clock as he stretched his back. He faintly registered talking in the background, the words escaping his interest.
Blah blah blah. The same words over and over again. How long did he have to endure this blasphemous torture? The same old nonsense, over and over again. He knew this, and knew it well. The basic 'Hello!' that everyone gave so often that became needlessly stupid. Hello! Hello! Hello! Like a dog that had been poorly imagined. It was, in of itself, utterly fucking useless.
With a sigh, Quentin picked up his pencil and continued the sketch. It would do know good to linger on the obvious. He'd be home soon enough, anyways. His parents would be gone for a while, thank goodness, which meant an empty house all to himself. Perfect.
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