Daryn fidgeted, suddenly uncomfortable. The old radio in the corner spat and sputtered with static as it pushed out a lonely love song. Daryn bit the inside of his cheek, picking up his pencil and letting his hand move freely across the page. What is the nature of things, he wondered. If he were to draw a kitten, (he sketched absently as he thought) is he the one giving it existence? life? Essentially he had created it. He could give it a comfy bed (he drew pillows and toys around the little kitten) a nice home... He could make it happy. Or he could draw the same kitten cold and alone on the street (he drew a window in the background, showing a rainy road outside) with no one to love him. Would he, as the artist, be at fault for what happened to this kitten he had granted existence? Would it be accepted as something that was supposed to happen, or had already happened? But, he thought, (pausing to shade the pillows a little, casting a dim light on the room he'd created) it would be so easy to give every sketch comfort or love or safety... How selfish would he be to draw that kitten, instead of in his warm bed, out on his own? It really made no difference to Daryn, he was only drawing to waste time and keep in practice. A sketch is a sketch, regardless of where the subject ends up. Is his drawn kitten a real thing? with feelings and emotions? Certainly not, it was only a drawing after all. But within the realm of the drawing itself was another world. A world that is very real to its inhabitants just like this world is real to us. In that sense would he be in the wrong for giving this kitten misfortunes even for the sake of art or to prove a larger point? How must that feel to the kitten?
It occurred to him that if this was the way he was going to think, then it was quite possible that he, Daryn, was in fact the object of someone's imaginings. That his life, his happiness might be in the control of some other artist or playwright or storyteller, or even some insane person who created a world to make himself less lonely. That everything in his life, every decision, every acquaintance... every death? Might be controlled by the whim or the mood or the "message" of someone or something else? He wondered what kind of story his would be. What language it would be told in, and what message an artist would try to give some audience by the telling of his life. He darkened the walls around the kitten, keeping him safely inside in his bed. Even if my life is just a sketch, he thought darkly, I will make my own happy in case, just in case, there was something to be held with his thoughts, he would make sure that the stories he created were happy, comfortable. Not this lonely game of a life he led. It's not so bad, he thought. At least he had Ravyn to tell. He couldn't imagine living out high school without his sister. She was the only one that listened to his thoughts, whether they be musings about the lives and mentalities of others or crazy circular theories like this. He imagined he might be quite different if he hadn't had her. As quiet and thoughtful as Daryn was, Ravyn offset him almost perfectly by being headstrong and outspoken enough for the both of them. He smiled, remembering times when she'd stood up for him, "You need to grow a spine, little bro," she'd always say even though they both knew he was two minutes older. She poked fun at him but it was always good natured. He wondered sometimes if the two of them weren't meant to be born as one person. Both were normal sized, Daryn maybe being even taller for his age than normal. But their personalities only worked when they were together. Daryn being quiet and quick to get upset, and Ravyn being strong-willed but level-headed.
Sometime during his musings, the bell must have rung. Soon his classmates were pouring into the room from lunch (he'd always ate by himself in class, he didn't care for the other students yelling and chasing and carrying on. That was much more Ravyn's crowd). Among his classmates in this particular lecture was a small girl torn jeans and a purple jacket. Her pink earphones were barely visible under her shock of white hair that fell almost to her shoulders. She took a desk ahead of Daryn, one row to the right just like always. Pushing her books under her chair, she shook her head to clear her bangs from in front of her bright blue eyes. She caught his eye and smiled, making him very nervous. He quickly busied himself getting his papers in order for class to start. If Ravyn were here she'd elbow him in the ribs and tell him to go talk to her at the end of class. But thankfully Ravyn had chemistry this hour. This, he thought, might be the one thing he never did tell his twin.