As Time Was Made

He worked on something he called paint.

There were too many textures he liked, too many ideas running through his mind for him to decide. It would be to change the colour of things. All of those miraculous colours! It was hard sometimes to concentrate on his own assignment. But wouldn’t it be wondrous to see all of the other objects, creatures, ideas, concepts?

He would continue to work on paint until it was done. It might take some time (a new concept, still very confusing to him), but he would be persistent.

Bent over his work, he stared at his notes as calmly as he was going to be to decide upon the texture. Maybe there could be different species of paint? That way he would be able to enter in all of these ideas. He slid a finger in the blue and drew it forward, making a long streak across the surface in front of him. He brought his finger up, staring at what he had done.

A smooth liquid. He was quite satisfied with it. He brought the rest of it forward, intent with documenting this finished product (though he was certain he would keep experimenting).

Which was when someone dropped down from above him, hands landing on the angel’s head and pressing him down into his paint.

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