delta-ex

The boy was an artist. He worked with his eyes and hands in perfect unison. The teachers sighed as he swam through his classes absentmindedly, imagination focused on higher goals. Numbers and report cards were meaningless. Math instructors were more eager to see his artwork, crammed into the margins of his assignments, than to award his effortless high grades. He didn't think he was special. I don't think he thought of himself at all. The world he had created was one of pure fiction and impossibility, and was as limitless as the heavens. He was not included. Maybe the same way God doesn't participate in the earth he made. He loved people.