Aaron

Aaron was an artist. He thanked all the gods that he lived in the 21st century and wouldn't be considered insane for it. Aaron had graduated from art university, and even during his studies, he had started taking commissions. Painting was his true passion; he simply couldn't tear himself away from it.

The morning proceeded as usual: after having breakfast, he sat down to finish a study, and then, to take a break, he went out onto the balcony to smoke. Returning to the canvas, he noticed that the group of fruits he had painted was now lying on the stool beside him. He remembered clearly that he didn't even have those fruits in his house. Aaron began to think he was going crazy, and to test his theory, he took out a new canvas and started to paint. The man painted a plate with carved patterns—something he definitely didn't own—and after exhaling, he headed to the store. Upon returning home, he noticed that the very same plate was lying next to the canvas. After searching the entire house and finding no sign that anyone had entered, he pushed all his supplies into a corner.

For a few more days, he didn't touch them until curiosity finally won. Aaron tied his crimson hair into a bun and put on a stained apron over his loungewear. Taking out the largest canvas, he began to paint. The brushstrokes were soft, even gentle, yet the man's hand glided quickly across the canvas. He spent the entire day working on it, hardly ever getting up. Stepping back a few paces, he sighed with satisfaction. Painted on the canvas was a youth of incredible beauty; his eyes were closed, and his pose was as if he had been caught in the middle of a deep sleep.

Aaron went to bed immediately after, and upon waking up in the morning, he couldn't believe his eyes. That very same youth was sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall.