Septiplier Oneshots.

(93) Ghostly Art.

Request from EnderJadePlays, I didn't mean for this to be angst but...

ALSO THANK YOU AGAIN FOR 2,000 VOTES AND 33,000 READS LIKE I'M LOST FOR WORDS.

Jack huffed, a hand running through his recently dyed bright green hair. He was just sitting staring at a blank canvas the paper daunting him; teasing him that there was nothing on it. His class was busy today, lots of bickering and chatting which was driving Jack up the wall. These classes were usually quiet and peaceful in which Jacks inspiration would flow, the brush effortlessly gliding against the paper. Yet today, nothing. No quiet and certainly no inspiration. He picked up his canvas and paintbrushes, storming out of the class. If he didn't come up with something anything, he would not come back to that class until that blank canvas was filled.

His mind was cloudy and he somehow ended up standing outside a boarded off house, it looked rickety but not dangerous. He entered inside, regarding whatever laws there were he was not in the mood for rules. He sat down on the floor, looking around the place. It was dusty but quiet exactly what Jack needed. He sat his canvas up against a cabinet in the far left of the room, only things remaining from the house. Jack wondered what color the room he was in had perviously been.

Perhaps a blue; to give people that inviting feeling. Now was not the time for interior matters, Jack thought. He starred at the colors he had frantically picked up on his rushed and frustrated way out of the nosy classroom. Black, pink, red and a mustard color. Not the best palette but Jack had worked with worse colors. Yet still no inspiration hit him.

Suddenly his canvas toppled over startling Jack as he stood.

"I am sorry." Came a voice in which the cabinet was and where the canvas which was now setting on the floor was. Jack rubbed his eyes, cursing himself for skipping his usual coffee this morning. Then he nearly lost it when the canvas moved back to were it previously was.

"Too many paint fumes." Jack mumbled.

"What are you painting?" Came the deep voice once again.

"Who are you? If you're come kid tryin' to scare me please save me the trouble."

"I live here." Rung the voice, too smooth for the green haired mans liking.

"I'm sorry, I'll leave." Jack said, feeling a little guilty for just walking into someones property.

Laughter, like genuine hearty laughter as if Jack had told the funniest joke in the world.

"I haven't had company in over ten years. I am not living; I'm simply trapped here. My name was Mark."

"..Jack. I couldn't get some peace and quiet so I came here."

The... ghost? Was in front of Jack, inspecting the blank canvas.

First of all, This ghost was handsome. Black hair, glowy completion and not scary or menacing at all.

"Draw me!" Explaining Mark startling him a little due to the fact that he was admiring the ghost.

Jack thought about it for a moment and then began to work.

He used the red as the background color, a contrast to the black hair and the pink as the make-do skin color and the mustard color as the shirt. It came out pretty well. Whilst the ghost sat and casual chit-chatter flowed. Who would've thought he'd be painting and talking to a dead man today? Certainly not Jack.

Mark explained he was 23 and couldn't take things after his dad had passed, this house was once where his family had lived. It made Jacks heart hurt, he wanted to hug the man in front of him but seeing as he was a ghost, he didn't think that would work.

"Its beautiful." Mark said, smiling.

"Thank you." Jack spoke in a whisper.

-

It had become a frequent thing now, Jack turning up to the house and Mark giving him inspiration. Yet on one particular afternoon, Mark was quiet it clear that something was bothering him.

"Mark, whats the matter?" Jack spoke his drole littered with curiosity.

"They're knocking this house down."

"..Where will you go?" Jack asked, already missing the sessions here.

"I will be free but I will miss you." Jack starred at his lap, sighing.

"I will miss you too. But you must be free after all these years its only right, Mark. I will visit you."

"Its not the same!" The ghost explained, sadness laced in his smooth voice.

"I know. But I will leave you art; always." Jack asked, struggling to hold back tears.

Jack could not just leave it there. He stood against the door of the house, the contractors standing outside.

"Sir, please move out the way."

"I am not moving until you tell your boss that this house cannot be knocked down."

The men rolled their eyes.

"Why not?"

"Its been here forever. A landmark, almost."

Jack was stalling, waiting for Mark.

Then suddenly the clipboard in the mans hand was thrown but not by him.

And then the hats on their heads were thrown off and Jack couldn't contain his laughter, nearly falling into the house as the door sung open. Mark was laughing too.

That night Jack slept on the floor, a ghost next to him.

"Thank you for protesting it. Even just for a day."

Jack nodded, he hoped his pranks and efforts were worth it.

Sadly not, as he heard stomping as he woke.

"Hey no!" Jack protested as an officer came inside the house.

"Squatter." He scoffed as the lifted Jack to his feet, dragging him off the property. Jack was mumbling apologies but not to the officer, to Mark.

He spent a night in a prison cell but didn't regret it, he missed class too but wasn't remotely bothered.

That weekend when Jack visited the house again, it was nothing but broken pieces of wood and bricks. Jack sighed, it meant more too him than that but yet, Mark was free after ten years of being there, lingering.

Jack visited Marks grave, it took some searching but it was worth it. He was producing much more art now; in fact double what he was used to so he could bring some here.

He knelt at the grave, not caring that it was muddy. "I opened the gallery today, my very first painting of you hanging up above the door. I miss you, Mark. I hope you like the art." Jack mumbled, sniffling.

Mark was the real art 

and Jack the painter.