Mason was sitting at his easel holding a fine-tipped brush in his hand, painting the sky that flew above him. Many vibrant tones of violet and blue coated his painting, mimicking the night sky. He was always accustomed to this; cold, elusive, dark yet bright skylight sitting on top of him. He loved to paint, so much that he devoted his life to it. Though the man was only 17, he was a functioning adult in a modern society. Long, long ago, when he was just a baby, his mother and father went through a heated divorce. Oddly, his father won custody of him. They spent the next few years living together in a tall building in the middle of a quiet neighborhood, going about life like one would expect. Alas, his father passed away when he was 16, leaving him up to the custody of foster care. But deep in his father's will stated that Mason would be emancipated, free of custody if he could pass the state exam. And he did, not surprisingly. The kid was the brightest star you would ever meet.

Though his notions are kindred, attitude skimpy, and actions good-willed, he was, at heart, a loner.

Once his father passed away, he moved out into the sunny country, away from the bustling city. There he could paint in peace, paint in seclusion, and paint the beauty of the night sky above him. He was happy, alone, and rarely seeing anyone else other than the weekends he went to town, buying groceries and retracting money from his bank account.

And that's where everything changed. A mite that would forever plague his existence, morph his existence. A choice that would, every living moment of his life, haunt him. He would be reminded of it every day.

I would be reminded of it every day.

It was September 4th, 2007…

"Hey, Casey!" I said, putting boxed food onto the conveyor belt. "What's shaking?"

"Ah, nothing, buddy" she said, scanning the items that accumulated at her end. "How's life going?"

"Well, I just finished last night's sky. It was more purple than usual… and there was this blinking dot that moved across the sky…" he moved his hand as if wiping a window pane.

"That was an airplane, ya dropout!" she punched my arm. I laughed.

"I know, I know. I'm just a kidder."

"That'll be your credit card, sir." I reached into my back pocket and handed my wallet to her. I knew I could trust her. I always have. She took out a Visa and swiped it, putting the card back into my wallet and handing it to me. "Paper or plastic?"

"Plastic." She ripped out a plastic sheet and whipped it through the air, causing the bag to open. She bagged everything in it and handed it to me. "Have a good night, bud."

"See you." I waved her off and walked out of the store, and down a dirt road. It was twilight, one of my least favorite things to paint. Don't get me wrong, it's beautiful. But the red and yellow paint I get smells pretty retched. The sun was falling down, the landscape getting darker by the minute. I could barely see the road, but it was flat anyway.

Or so I thought.

I tripped over a heavy bag of something and fell over, landing on my palms and dropping my bag.

"Jesus…" I muttered. "What the heck was that?" I shoved myself up onto my haunches, and stood up, rubbing my head and turning around.

I could barely make out anything from the sunlight, but the crimson-red color was all too familiar.

Someone spilled #6 red on a shag carpet and left it in the road. Who would do that? But I moved my head closer and smelled it. It didn't smell like #6 red… but more like...

Blood.

I poked the carpet and dragged my finger, hoping to get a bootleg brand of paint on it. But nothing came off the carpet. Was it even carpet? I grabbed a handful of the carpet and pulled.

It was warm.

The carpet moved, almost like a jerk. I pulled back and stumbled away, confused on what this roll of fabric was. The fabric lifted its end… a head. Two ears poked up just high enough to touch the sunlight.

It was a wolf. A fox. A dog. And it was hurt.

"Help…" it somehow whispered.