The Magic Paintbrush

Ten-Year-old Jack loved books and art. His new project involved both. It was after bedtime and he painted in the light of a small candle. His parents would be furious. He’d painted other bookcases, of course. This one was special. It held all of his fantasy books. Merlin, Unicorns, Elves, Trolls, Fairies – they all sprang from the pages and came out through Jack’s paint brush. He leaned back and held up the candle to inspect his work. It was beautiful, he told himself. Then it happened, as it always happened. The glow came from behind him. He knew he would be in trouble deep this time.

The family had a dog because of one of Jack’s paintings on his first bookshelf when he was seven. Lassie was his name. He said Lassie followed him home from school and, luckily, his parents agreed to keep Lassie. Jack told his parents he found the old saddle blanket shortly after the phase where he only read westerns. The blanket sat atop the bookshelf holding Louis Lamoure books. Then there was the meteor – a little harder to explain away, but meteor showers do happen, and this one was only the size of a softball. His parents still thought it was just a rock, thrown through his window by the neighborhood bully. He looked, through the flickering candle light at the bookshelf that held all of his space-related books, all treasures to him a mere six months ago.

This one was going to be bad; Very Bad! Jack explained away all of the other things. How on Earth, he thought, hearing a snort from behind him, could he explain a live unicorn in his bedroom? He threw the paintbrush out his window, but knew it would come back. It always did.

Word Count:296