(If you found a can of magic spray paint, what would you do? Note: this is a possibility for a short story. If you would read it, comment below!)
Written September 1st 2016
I felt as if it were glaring at me with its silvery metal eyes. It wanted me to paint, to adapt. To kill. I don't even remember who I am anymore... it's taken over. Why did I find that can on the street? Why did I pick it up with curious fingers? I held my head in my hands, the can's glare burning into my cheek.
"They'll realize that I'm gone from the vault," it whispered. "They'll find you with me... They'll kill you." I whimpered and held back tears. "Just... take me away..." I stood, my head limp with unfamiliar red curls tumbling down.
The metal was cold, and the paint was a butterfly's touch as I put on another skin. The wall sucked into itself, and I stepped out of the cold prison and out into a colder winter street.