There is some peculiar quality found solely in any and all individuals who regularly wear solid, red socks. Amos knew not what exactly this quality was, but he knew of it, and that was more than enough.
Amos reveled in the orgasmic tension of eagerly awaiting the moment his art would be revealed to the public. Of course, his art was more than already revealed, having been spray painted on a brick wall in large, bright red letters, a red so bright that it could not be achieved through standard, paint mixing means. Still, the public had yet to understand the true extent to which his artistic, dare he say, genius had pushed the boundaries of what they considered to be art.
Such a bright red accompanied by such an obscene gesture drew the stares of bystanders, who crowded around the red faced boy standing not more than a meter away from the wall, shaking in anger.
It wasn't so much the word itself that made Zachariah angry. Zachariah always was an angry individual, as people who wore red socks often were. His predisposition to rage was only boosted by the anomalous nature of the graffiti. The anomalous nature being that the art piece was imbued with the energy of an individual who could often be found clad in turquoise socks(although Zachariah had better words for such an individual). An energy that Zachariah was not aware of, but nonetheless placed him into a state of aggression.
And so, Zachariah could not help but shake and glare in anger at the word plastered messily on the wall in front of him.
"Kike".
Zachariah shoved his index finger at the wall, as if he were addressing it directly.
"This is not funny," he grunted through clenched teeth. The crowd, much like sheep exposed to a wolf's grow stepped back in fear. "Jew," someone said, wielding what they considered to be an insult in a failed attempt at comedy.
"I'm not Jewish!" exclaimed Zachariah. Watching from afar, Amos felt shivers run down his spine at the reaction to his art, which far exceeded his expectations. Zachariah swung his fist behind his head and then plunged it as hard as he could right into the center of the graffiti, thus activating it's second anomalous aspect.
Immediately upon contact with the yet-to-dry paint of the wall, Zachariah froze in place as his body took on a striking blue hue, save for his bright red socks, which now stood out more than ever. The paint of the graffiti dissipated from the wall and into the skies.
Amos laughed manically as the crowd looked on in terror and confusion, and all at once they screamed and scattered. All but one man. Amos, shifted slightly in an uncomfortable way. He did not know why this man was not scared, why this man had straggled despite the screaming and the panic that surrounded him.
Amos approached, moving silently in his vibrant turquoise socks. The man turned to look at him, and his gaze was piercing. He had a stern look to him, and he was dressed in an entirely grey suit, accompanied by matching grey shoes and socks. They grey blended smoothly with his pasty skin and dark brown hair and eyes.
He swiftly advanced toward Amos. The man cupped his hands around Amos's cheeks and smiled a warm and welcoming smile. His entire outfit and his hair and eyes flashing white and yellow.
"This!" he exclaimed.
"This is art."
Per 
