Painting sunsets.

The lake reflected the colors of the sunset as he sat on the dock. With a lazy gesture of his hand, he began to blur a cloud that was sharply defined in the sky.

Taking a sip of beer with his other hand, he kept smearing the cloud until it thinned into a pale fog.

He glanced at the lake’s surface and noticed the sun was no longer reflected there. Using two fingers, he parted the trees where the sun was setting, and with the index finger and thumb of his other hand, he pinched the sun and nudged it upward so it would reappear in the water.

One of the trees in the background wasn’t positioned quite right, so he stretched it slightly, making it just a bit taller. He checked the reflection again. The colors still felt off, so he adjusted the sun once more and took another sip of his beer.

He looked down at the lake, then back up at the sky. Something was still missing. A small star was visible, but not bright enough for his taste. He grabbed the sleeve of his jacket and polished the star until it shone as brightly as it could.

When he looked back at the lake, it was perfect.

He walked to the water’s edge, reached down, grabbed the lake, and began to roll it up.

Finishing the last sip of his beer, he tucked the lake under his arm and tossed the empty bottle into the air. Pointing his index finger and thumb like a gun, he fired.

The bottle exploded midair, and the night snapped into place—pitch black, scattered with stars, a crescent moon hanging above it all.