One would think paint tried to kill him by the way it dripped off of him, in a murky pool of brown and black.

Eyes devoted to his painting, their emerald green fierce and bright. A ghost white face splattered in any color imaginable, Sunshine Yellow, Sapphire blue, Ruby red, Cotton candy pink. As he painted in a mad hurry of some sort, His clothing looked like at one point it was a rich maroon shirt, with a pair of bleached jeans. But now stained in the colors of the rainbow.

His paints all lined up neatly, Organized by color. The blues, then greens, then yellow, then orange, then red, then purple. Any color you could imagine was there, all carefully contained, so that none mingled, Bottles sorted by shape and size, it was clear there was an OCD role in the way he did things.

His emerald eyes so focused on his painting, the world could burn in ruby fire and he wouldn’t notice…his frail, sharp face held in a mask of concentration.
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And thats all I have