After enjoying a casual lunch on the observation deck we took the kids down to the former park to run around. Although there were a couple places where you could visit a ‘forest’, they were typically highly curated locations located in the middle of a megacity. And they were expensive.

  Out here the kids could run through the woods, chase animals, and explore nature. This was probably going to be the last chance for them to enjoy it for a while, so we just let them go. With proper supervision of course.

  While Jane went out with the kids, Alan had other plans.

  “You want what?” I asked once everyone else had stepped away.

  “Painting supplies,” he replied. I looked him up and down, trying to determine if he was joking or not. He seemed fairly serious.

  “Why? You’ve never shown any interest in painting before. What changed?”

  Alan glared at me for several seconds.

  “Really? You have no idea why I might want to paint? Why I might be inspired?” he stepped to the side and gestured to the view. “None at all?!?!?”

  “Well, when you put it that way…” I muttered. “I’ve already told Nyx to provide you all with a monthly point stipend, why are you asking me?”

  “Because this is the best view, and I don’t want to make a mess of the area,” he explained sheepishly, glancing at the ground.

  “Then put down a tarp, it’s not rocket science,” I grumbled. “What are you, twelve?”

  “I’m fifteen,” he growled. “And forgive me for not knowing the basics of painting, it’s my first time!”

  I took a step back, and looked at him.

  I often forgot how young Alan actually was. Jane, Alan and I had grown up fast, we had to in order to survive, and support our little family. Although Jane and I had been the main bread winners, Alan had contributed what he could, looking after the kids, or picking up odd jobs, I’d just grown so accustomed to treating him like an adult I’d forgotten how young he actually was.

  When he screwed up, like when he went to visit his girlfriend and got kidnapped a couple months ago I’d written it off as him being stupid. Looking back, that was one hundred percent true, but I should have expected it, he was still a kid.

  “Alright, calm down, I didn’t mean anything by it,” I said. “If you put down a sheet or something under your… painty holding thing…”

  “Easel,” Alan interjected.

  “Sure easel. Just put something down on the floor to stop the paint from splattering. And maybe a bib,” I suggested.

  Alan shook his head. “Bibs are for babies, painters have smocks.”

  “If you knew all this, why did you need my input?” I exclaimed, throwing my hands up in the air. Alan just snorted at my antics. “Nyx, please provide Alan with a basic painting setup please. Using my points.”

  A small painting setup materialized right next to the window, including a small selection of paints, brushes, easel, stool, smock, and a drop cloth already laid out. Alan looked at me strangely for a moment.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Why using your points? As you said, we have a small stipend of points for this stuff.”

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “Can’t I do something nice occasionally?” I grumbled. When he didn’t immediately turn towards the array of painting supplies I made a shooing motion. “Go. Paint.”

  The boy shrugged, and wandered over the painting area. He threw on his smock and slowly prepared the paints before sitting down. I pulled out a chair from the table and sat down behind him, watching.

  “So, what brought this on?” I asked curiously.

  “I dunno… I just felt like I needed to try something new, expand my horizons. Learn a new skill. I’ve been feeling a little listless over the last few months, not having to take care of the kids twenty-four seven, so I wanted to find something to do with my time,” Alan explained.

  “You’re not the only one,” I chuckled. Alan glanced back at me, so I clarified. “Deadbeat made lunch today. She told me she wanted to learn a new skill.”

  “Is that why it had such an interesting taste?” Alan chuckled.

  “Hey! I think she did a pretty good job for her first try. Especially for someone that doesn’t have tastebuds. Remember the first meal I made? It was completely inedible. AndJane set fire to the kitchen the first time she tried to cook,” I said, defending the bear.

  “The first couple times she tried,” Alan corrected.

  “Exactly! That’s what makes it so remarkable. Sure it wasn’t the greatest meal in the world, but it was edible.”

  Alan nodded slightly, his gaze locked on the view outside the window. He studied it for several long minutes before picking up his brush, dipping it in the paint and slowly laying shapes down on the canvas.

  I just sat there, watching him. At first the painting didn’t look like anything, just a mess of yellow, gray and blue. I know that it probably represented the rocky ravine and sky, the colors were similar, the shapes were just too abstract to start. On top of this base layer Alan added darker greys, blacks, and greens, adding definition to the rock and tiny trees. With just that little bit of detail, the painting became recognizable, alive.

  Over the next hour and a half Alan slowly layered more and more paint on the canvas, adding more and more details before finally adding the water that was pouring over the falls. Considering this was his first attempt at painting the effect was remarkable. The layers of paint added texture and depth and the final product evoked the feeling of staring at the falls, even if it was only a rough approximation of the real thing.

  “How did you know how to do all that?” I asked quietly. “I thought this was the first time you’d ever painted.”

  Alan jumped, and spun around on his stool, a look of surprise on his face. His hands and smock were splattered with paint, and he even had streaks across his face. When he saw me sitting there he looked down and twiddled his fingers. “I didn’t realize you were still here. I thought you had gone out to join the others.”

  “Yeah, I got that when you jumped a couple inches off your seat,” I smirked. “How’d you know how to do all that?”

  “I’ve read about painting a couple times before,” he explained, turning back towards the canvas. “How the different types of paint require different techniques, and how to apply each. This is an oil based paint, so I can layer colors over top of each other. You can't do that so cleanly with watercolors.”

  “You don’t say…” I said, not following a word of what he was saying. “What are you going to do with the painting?”

  “I dunno, put it in my closet? It was only my first attempt, and there’s nothing special about it,” Alan muttered.

  “Don’t you dare!” I shouted, jumping to my feet. “It may be your first attempt, but it still captures the look and feeling of the falls. We should put it up, next to the picture of us at Nimbleland.”

  “You can’t do that,” Alan stuttered. “It’s terrible!”

  “Even though it’s not as good as the paintings in your books, it’s far better than anything I could do, or anything else you’d find in the undercity. It’s wonderful. No hiding it,” I said.

  “But…” Alan started.

  “No buts, it stays!” I declared, storming over to him. I reached out to grab the painting then paused. “It is finished, right?”

  “Of course it is,” Alan grumbled. “Do you see anything missing?”

  I glanced back and forth between the falls and the painting several times, before finally nodding. “Just one thing.”

  Alan looked at me suspiciously. “What?”

  “Your signature. Aren’t painters supposed to sign their work for when they get famous?”

  The boy sighed. “Be serious.”

  “I am!” I declared, taking a small brush and shoving it towards him. “Sign it.”

  Alan took the brush tentatively, dipped it in the black paint, and left a scribble in the corner.

  “Happy now?” he grumbled.

  “Absolutely. Thank you,” I replied, carefully taking the painting off the easel and carrying it over to the table. After I placed it down to dry I turned back to Alan. “You want to try again?”

  He bit his lip, and glanced out the window for a moment before nodding.

  “Nyx, one more canvas please!” I shouted before retaking my seat.

  Alan’s fingers twitched as he reached out for a brush. He grabbed a large one and carefully scooped up some paint and leaned towards the canvas. Just when he was about to apply the first brush stroke he paused.

  “Hey Evie,” he said, hesitantly.

  “Yes?”

  “Thanks for this,” he muttered as he slowly applied paint to canvas. Even with his back to me I could tell he was enthralled with the process.

  “No problem,” I muttered. “No problem at all.”

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