I walked towards my truck, looking pissed and grumpy as always. That's how everyone always saw me and most of the time, it was true. People annoy me, both regular and nation and being a nation meant I had to deal with tons of both. I'm just now leaving a meeting where I had to deal with Oliver pestering everyone with his cupcakes and Allen always picking a fight.

I get into my red, beat up truck that had the faded markings of a maple leaf on the front. It takes a few tries to get it to start which worsens my mood but eventually, it roars to life. I'm going to need to kick Allen's ass for destroying my truck, not that it was in great condition before. I pull out into the traffic that was slow as ever since everyone here get's road rage at the drop of a hat and many will get out of the car and fight, thus clogging traffic more. I tend to stay in my truck no matter how annoyed I got but there is a reason for it. In the glove compartment of my truck, there was a sketching pad and colored pencils.

That's right, I'm an artist. Not that anyone knows it's me. I use a surname to keep that a secret. All my pieces are signed RVP. It's kind of fun to use only the initials since no one knows what that stand for. Everyone thinks it's my name but it actually stands for my favorite food, Red Velvet Pancakes. No one has even come close to guessing it right.

Traffic has come to a full standstill so I grab my sketchbook and pencils and continue my previous sketch. Here lately, all my pieces have had the same focus. It's this person I keep seeing in my dreams. A thin Canadian with shoulder length blond hair, a small curl sticking out in the front. He's tall but not overly so. I'm not sure where he came from but I often see him in my dreams. Something special about him is that he is partly see through which is hard to draw.

I get so wrapped up in my drawing that I didn't know traffic had started moving until the drivers had started yelling and honking behind me. I put my sketch back in the glove compartment and flip the bird out my window as I drive forward. I manage to get back to my house without a fight which is a lucky break. I jump out of my truck and walk into my small log cabin, grabbing my hockey stick and dangling it over my shoulder. Once inside, I drop a salmon down for my polar bear quickly then head to the basement where my art studio is. The walls are covered in my previous artwork that I didn't send into various art galleries.

I grab my easel and sit down. I start with a simple sketch in pencil, using a ruler to make sure everything is scaled right. There is a certain science to art I've found. In this piece, I think I'll have Chickadee (I had taken him to calling him that since I don't have a name for him) setting up an experiment. His lab coat open around him and his hair tied back in a careful ponytail. I begin to sketch out the base, getting lost in the flow of it. The simple move of a hand leading to the creation of lines then shapes and slowly an image appears. One of the true beauties in this dangerous world I inhabit.

After several hours, I sit back with a sigh, turning my head this way and that to try and help with the stiffness that had taken up residence there. I guess I should stop and get something to eat. I begrudgingly stand up, stretch and head up stairs. I start making pancakes, the greatest food on the planet. I make a giant mountain of it and give a few to my polar bear before digging in after drowning it in maple syrup. I have to be careful not to let the lead that's on the side of my hand touch the pancakes, knowing from experience how bad that tastes. I really should have washed my hands first but I was hungry so piss off.

I finish the mountain and go to take a shower. Then crawl into bed, going to sleep as dreams of my Chickadee begin.

Today fucking sucked! Another meeting lead to Oliver chase me down with a knife when I had finally told him to shove those cupcakes of his up his ass. Then traffic was so horrid that I ended up in two fights, and I wasn't even drawing this time! Then I had to go to the store for more art supplies and food. I ended up just bashing into people's carts with mine since they wouldn't get out of my fucking way. People can be so fucking ridiculous! I try to steady my pissed off breathing but can't manage it. Once I get home, instead of going inside, I go to the side of the house and start chopping wood to get out extra anger. Your emotional state comes through in your drawing and the piece I'm currently working on is not angry and I don't want it to be angry.

I end up chopping a giant pile of wood by the time I'm done. I lean against the house, my flannel shirt laying next to me, showing my paint spattered undershirt. I pick up the flannel shirt and throw it on my shoulders without bothering to button it up and head inside. After getting a drink and give my polar bear something to eat I head downstairs. I make sure that I don't have any sweat on my hands and pull up my easel, my paint next to me. I had finished the outline yesterday and today, it was time to start with the color.

I pick up one of my brushes and begin. Soon, I forget about how angry I was before and how people are so annoying. It's just and my Chickadee. As I paint, I begin wondering what he would be like in real life. In my dreams, he's always so kind. He wouldn't last in this world. Unless I protect him. The thought makes my hand pause. That's odd, I don't get thoughts like that. I shrug and continue. I don't get those thoughts about people but for a painting, something pure and beautiful, it's not such a bad thing.

Several hours go by, all the while I'm wondering what his personality would be like as he slowly becomes more and more detailed. His delicate and slightly see-thru beauty become more and more fulfilled. After about eight hours, I lean back and stare the finished piece. I'll have to let it dry before hanging it up but this might be my best one yet. He seems to almost… move. Like he is just finishing setting up the experiment into place. As I stare, I notice the way his curl gently moves up and down with his head movements and the way he'll cock his head to the side before making a correction.

I continue to watch in a trance before it hits me, his curl is moving. He is cocking his head to the side. Holy shit, my piece is alive! My Chickadee is moving! A mixture of happiness, shock and fear wash through me, leaving me unable to move. He doesn't notice me as he finishes placing the cage where it should go. The viewpoint of the painting changes as he wheels me forward. He moves behind some glass and begins pressing buttons. Then he waits and nothing changes. After about a minute, he sighs and comes forward, closer to the painting. That's when he starts getting really close to the painting. looking confused. He steps back and grabs a control, gently moving it around.

Then, the painting becomes blurry and foggy then settles out, leaving me at a higher point of view than before. I lock my eyes with his violet eyes as he stares in surprise.