Scattered

I painted a picture on the wall. It was beautiful, sound, and concrete. But I was too modest like always. So, the picture left the wall feeling forsaken and rejected seeking acceptance. The picture saw things walking down the street amongst the crowd that it had never seen. It saw diversity. The picture liked this new found diversity. It saw beauty which it could not comprehend. It saw hatred which hit it like a brick in the face. No longer did that innocence blind it. The picture felt alive for the first time. It had no boundaries, no limits, and no rules to follow. It could do whatever it wanted. The picture was not aware of society's boundaries, limits, and rules therefore it did exactly what it saw fit. The picture stole. The picture killed. The picture ran naked through the streets. The picture told every person he was hopelessly in love with them. The picture looted. The picture burned houses down. The picture broke into department stores and graffiti'ed nonsense all over the walls. The picture had sex with animals. The picture did whatever it wanted. Society shunned it for these things. It was cast out from everything. Lost, defeated, and broken-spirited the picture had nowhere to run, nowhere to flee to. No one to call up and say, "Hey, help me out, man. I'm in a jam." The picture missed me. It wished desperately that I would come and rescue it. Of course, how could I forgive the picture for what it did? It totally just abandoned me with no sign of remorse or regret, until now. There would be no reconciliation. Ostracized from everything, the picture was prone to do one thing only. It found a desolate, blank wall. The picture painted a picture on the wall. It was beautiful, sound, and concrete. But the picture was too modest like always.