been further from the present owner, and his selling of the property to this wretch was a travesty in the eyes of all who lived there. Despite this, to alleviate responsibility for the chaos from Angruwmoor would be a terrible injustice. Not only was he lazy, but he was lazy. He was the artistic equivalent of a writer who would repeat the same simple adjective twice in one line, rather than attempt any sense of variation or style. More than this however, Angruwmoor’s tepid persona blunted his artistic curve before it could even begin thinking how to express itself. He possessed all the tools to devise art through the expression of emotion, apart from emotion itself. In essence,  Angruwmoor’s unsensationalism was a beast of its own creation, the longer his mundane, drab, Mondayfull life continued, the further he would drift from the shimmering heights of artistic success he so averagely craved. As time had passed, and the damp of the apartment had seeped into his mind and his sofa, Angruwmoor had stopped having guests. He had stopped leaving in shame of returning. On the rare occasions he did leave he would study his shoulders carefully at every twist and turn, leaving and entering the building with panicked speed, as if both desperate to escape his room, and yet also desperate to return, as he knew reality could never be worse than the grotesque image of his apartment in his mind. The kitchen floor was also stained.
2. Glory Suddenly, the apartment door was flung open, and Angruwmoor strode into the apartment. I cannot say for certain where he had been. There had been a downpour but he was not wet and there was a sheen in his eyes that seemed to glaze over the disgust in his apartment and found it sights set on the easel. But before he could continue toward it, he stopped himself and sat in a chair by the door. He contemplated the images in his mind for an immeasurable time after this. Undoubtedly endowed with a sense of purpose that transcended the apathy of his previous lifestyle. Remaining still, he moved his hands in the air as if painting, watching closely with his eyes closed to ensure he did not make a single mistake. 27
illustration by: Amelia Preston