You sit under a large oak tree in the central park. You come here often, as to get away from your current, boring life. The sights in the park are breathtakingly beautiful; the trees, the small blue lake in the middle of the park, and the perfectly cut and shaped bushes, in which the gardeners come around every two weeks to make into animals.
The oak tree you sit under has been in the park for over a hundred years, as the dusty plaque next to it reads. You pull your orange backpack off of your shoulders and set it down beside you, opening it up. You pull out a sketch pad and pencils and look around the park for inspiration.
You are a sensational artist; you've entered competitions from a young age and often won first place in most. The hosts and guests have enjoyed your brilliant work and always asked you to come back again the next year. But that was ages ago.
Your eyes soon fell upon a park bench with a man perched upon it, both of their backs facing you. You pick up a pencil and open your sketchbook, daydreaming and drawing. You were in no rush and you were hoping the man wasn't, either.
You soon left the real world and became absorbed in your sketches. You hadn't looked up in bit due to your photographic memory but once you lifted your eyes, you were stunned to see that the man was no longer there.
"Oh well..." you sighed.
After you finished the outlines, you started to carefully colour and shade in the drawing. You added in smaller details in which you hadn't drawn yet and the picture looked more alive. Like it was an actual photograph. You smiled.
"Well, isn't that brilliant?" calls a voice.
You looked up but saw no one. You are just imaging things, _.
You pull your eyes back down as you turn the page to start anew.
"Did you hear me?" calls the voice again.
A shadowy figure now stands above you and you can feel his eyes piercing into your skull. You shudder.
You nod.
"Good. The name is Richard. Richard Brook." He introduces himself as a long, slender hand reaches downward towards you.
You shake his hand, looking up towards him, taking his features in; small, slightly upturned nose, small yet large lips, high cheekbones, big dark brown – almost black – eyes, thin eyebrows and, dark, sleek black hair which has been pulled back with gel.
You stare at him for a while, before he smiles and you snap out of a daze. You quickly look away.
What are you doing? This guy is probably a creep!
Your hand falls out of his and he shoves his back into his pocket – his jeans pocket.
You let out small laugh before packing up your materials and standing, swinging the backpack over your shoulder.
"Heh... I really should be going..." you say, quickly walking away. "I'll um... I'll see you around... heh..."