* (Well, there is a canvas here.)

* (Will you draw?)

* (Kris picked up a pencil.)

* (They began by sketching what they had seen behind the tree.)

* (But, as they sketched, the line began to err, as if the pencil had lost its way.)

* (So they started again, drawing over the lines they had already made.)

* (Many times, they would suddenly halt, or the pencil drifted into a new drawing...)

* (So, they started over, over, over again.)

* (Through many repetitions, their movements became faster and smoother...)

* (... until without looking, they had completed a sketch in a single, wild line.)

* (...)

* (In the end, as a result of layering the sketches on top of each other...)

* (... The surface of the canvas was nothing more than a monochrome smear.)

* (...)

* (Next, a tree was painted over it...)

* (... painted over everything...)

* (... leaving nothing but a simple still life.)

* (... After all, there wasn't anything to look at in the room besides a single tree.)

* (...)

* (Kris got up. It seemed the painting was complete.)

* (...)

* (But, their hand, smudged with graphite...)

* (... was still moving, as if to trace some unseen shape.)



* (It's a sink.)

* (It would be ridiculous if you painted something and there was nowhere to wash your hands.)

* (You ran water over your hands, and dried them.)

* (Between your fingers, a faint grey crease glittered stubbornly.)

* (... You can never wash it all away.)