I walked into the old studio, The grey walls seemed to cry. The cracked floor almost crumble beneath my feet. A few papers clung to the sad walls, with few colors. This is where I did it. My life's great work. Now, I was an old man and the studio would be destroyed the next day. I took the time to visit this place, to bring back memories of painting, creating, inventing worlds of color and light. Now it was all gone. All dull, all grey. And I, was just an old man, saying one last goodbye to my youth.
Random Image Stories
By VoteSaxon
Basically I write a story based on an image I find on the internet. Feel free to send me pictures, I'll see i... More