Autumn was such a beautiful, peaceful season, and yet there was a hint of sorrow in the scarlet leaves and howling wind that chased them through the cold air. The presence of cold death lingered in the air, and with the oncoming winter, the world was losing its color and becoming barren and hostile to defend itself from the cruel weather. And yet, that only added to its peace. At least that was what Shinji thought. Yes, autumn was beautiful, despite and maybe even because the world was vaning. It reminded him of himself.<br/><br/>His thin fingers tied a thin thread around a stash of papers to avoid them from scattering when he carried them. Paintings. About a dozen landscapes, painted in black and white, with only the occasional speck of color here and there, done in beautiful detail were all put together and rested between his arm and chest when he left the house, carrying the paintings with himself. They were now his only source of income, and even though he disliked them and thought lowly of his work, some people apparently liked them.<br/><br/>If it sold... He needed to eat, too. It's not like the opinion of other people mattered. They were just trash. And he, too, was nothing but trash to himself.<br/><br/>He was just making his way through the park when he heard a voice behind himself, and suddenly felt the papers being snatched from beneath his arm. Some kid grabbed them and followed by a group of other children ran through the park, racing with the wind, and scattering his paintings around. Why'd be do that? Shinji frowned slightly and sighed, chasing after the child. He was faster than his thin figure would suggest, and soon caught up, blocking the boy's way.<br/><br/>"Give me that back, or I will call the police." he spoke bleakly, outstretching one pale hand concealed in a thick black sleeve in a cold gesture, expecting the paintings to be returned. The child looked at him, maybe even in fear, and handed the two remaining paintings back slowly. Shinji took them, and muttering "trash" moved along to pick the scattered ones up. Most of them wasn't there when he returned, though - only this girl that picked them up. Oh, amazing, more people to talk to!<br/><br/>He stepped towards her with a deep sigh. In his long coat and with wind loan hair, he resembled a scarecrow, and he didn't exactly feel the best about approaching the girl. But never mind. He'd rather give her a word or two and have lunch than starve.<br/><br/>"Can I have them back?" he requested, pressing the remaining two onto his chest. The wind blew a stray strand of hair into his eye, and he instinctively raised his hand to brush it away, but he did so very quickly. When the sleeve of the coat sled down, it exposed his hands too much, and with them the thin layer of bandages that was still over his wrists. Just two weeks... No, three. Too little.