[Prompt from http://daily-writing.blogspot.com/ .]
Black pages, skies of dawn and dusk, grasses of every season, sun rays, blooming flowers, the rain, ocean, clay and dirt, a dancing flame.
The world was at my fingertips, every aspects of life and death were reaching out to me, their very fibers intertwining with the course hairs of my brushes. They craved the fame and immortality that only I could give them.
And so I painted.