The young artist sat silently in the corner of his apartment, simply tapping the armrest of his aging wooden chair that he’d affectionately dubbed “the chair of thoughts” as it was where he would come to just sit and think on days like today. Rain tapped in a slow dull rhythm on the window that looked out onto the city. The TV droned some where in the background, its low glow the only light in the small room. The artist had a problem, quite a common one, but an annoyance nonetheless. A blank canvas stood staring at the artist pleading for him to paint on it, but the artist could not… this was his problem…inspiration. After churning out painting after painting, the artist’s idea and inspiration reservoir had finally run dry. He found himself in the doldrums, unable to find any ideas that might fill his sails and blow him across this stretch of hopelessness.
The artist ran a hand through his thick black hair and pulled out a small box of cigarettes from his jeans pocket. He opened it and pulled out a crooked but smoke-able cigarette and wedged it between his soft lips, he had no love for “coffin nails”, but he was in too deep to quit at this point- the addiction was just too strong. He reached into his shirt pocket and drew out his trusty Zippo lighter, a remnant from his days in college, filled with more memories than it was lighter fluid. He flicked the igniter a few times before the flame finally appeared- flickering seductively in the darkness like some exotic dancer, it mesmerised the young artist. “Perhaps it could light up my ideas up again?” the young man thought to himself with a smirk. He moved the flame to the tip of the cigarette and lit it before blowing out the flame, shutting the lighter and putting it where it belonged, close to his heart. The artist inhaled deeply taking in almost a quarter of the cigarette; held the smoke briefly, before releasing it cross the gloom of his apartment like a dragon in its den.
He sat quietly smoking and pondering, searching desperately for any form of inspiration. He looked out the window hoping to find that which had come so easy to him as a child. The grey dreary city stared back in its rainy bleakness, offering no alms of inspiration for the poor artist. His mind sunk into a deep and dull boredom…boredom? The artist smiled recalling his days as a kid. “Boredom is the mother of inspiration”, at least it was back when he was younger; and it had brought forth ideas full of wondrous weirdness and awesome oddity. Boredom was a something that had to be escaped at any cost and the artist had always done this by thinking of outrageous and outlandish fantasies and thoughts. By doing this he was able to evade the boredom and in the process he had created pieces of art unrivalled in originality and character which he later incorporated into his works as a young adult.
As age had descended upon him, his over-active imagination had become rather dormant, silently reading a book in the corner of his mind gathering dust, desperately yearning for the day it might return to fulfil its beloved duty. Today was that day. The man stood up and strode up to the window which over-looked the city, tossing aside the used up cigarette as he did so. He stood at the window and scanned the lacklustre fusion of concrete and metal- the concrete jungle, its infinite dullness spanning on and on. He felt the boredom creep over him, and he found himself grinning as madly as Doctor Frankenstein as his once dead imagination sprung to life once more- this time more vibrant than ever…
The earth shook tremendously and a horrific roar filled the air. The hair on the back of the artist’s neck stood erect and his spine tingled with anticipation; his were eyes filled a childlike delight not seen in years. He leant forward and looked intently into the city- and then he saw it… the 500 ft monster- no no not just any old monster, it was the king of cheesy Japanese monsters, the epically proportioned Godzilla. It stood toe to toe with the monolithic skyscrapers, crushing any in its path- undeterred by the rain, the scaly monstrosity made its way the through the city making the miniscule humans scuttle away like cockroaches discovered in a pantry. The beast roared raucously before stopping abruptly. It jerked its head to the side- almost as if it had seen the artist… it changed its course, drawing closer and closer to the apartment, leaving a trail of twisted metal and destruction behind it. It reached the window at which the artist stood and leant down so the only thing visible was its gargantuan eye ball staring menacingly at the young man who was rooted to the ground with both excitement and fear.
The creature faded away as the artist’s fantasy came to an end. The artist smiled devilishly and grabbed his trusty brush set. He stood before the canvas brandishing his brushes and he eagerly readied his paints- his inspiration had finally returned to him…