Painting with Luci

[Kuzuru]

The demon opened his eyes. Before him stretched a street, devoid of any color. Structures made with metal and sharp angles stretched high into the melancholic sky. Everything carried a drab and disheartened wash of dull colors. Kuzuru stepped forward. Invisible weights were hung from his joints and every action took considerable effort. His throat was dry, very dry. There was no noise. There was nothing except that street and those monoliths of steel and the invisible weights. Another step forward. The scent of vanilla licked at his nostrils. The demon breathed deep, filling his lungs with sweet scents. As he exhaled a cloud of rainbow haze escaped his lips. Glitter filled his skull and lightning sparks through his veins. The weights were gone, the buildings were not.

Before him the world opened up, a Pollock painting on LSD. The demon squeezed his eyes shut and found a new sense of clarity. This was not his world, he was but a guest within this multicolored wonderland. When he opened his eyes he saw a trail of fumes leading further down the road. The demon walked forth, taking his time to absorb the new and wondrous world presented to him. Like a siren’s call he followed the sweet scent, inhaling more and more of the haze. The city twisted in upon itself and pulled him deeper and deeper into the maze. Voices. Distant at first, but every step brought him closer to their source.

Rounding the corner he spotted two figures. An older man and a girl seemingly painted from the same stuff that constructed this world. They hadn’t noticed him yet, or if they had they paid him no mind. He blinked a few times and glanced down at his own body. It was untouched by the tie-dye wetwash. A black suit with red pinstripes, the blood red undershirt undone one button too far. He smiled and slicked back his black hair. The world around him quivered and seemed to breath in time with him. Kuzuru started walking towards the duo. His foot kicked a can of spray paint and the two turned to face him. He smiled and crouched to pick up the can of paint. With a nod towards the other two he shook the can and pointed it towards the ground. As he walked toward them he sprayed a trail of red, so dark it was almost black. He stopped a few feet from them, shrugged, and turned towards an unoccupied wall. On it he painted a rudimentary smiley face, bright yellow. Paint bled from its edges, but it kept its form.

“Huh, guess I can’t paint very well either,” he shrugged and offered a smile towards them, “sorry to interrupt your little shindig, not that I did it by choice, anyways name’s Kuzuru, nice to meet you two.”