What really caught Ken's eye was the blank space in the corner of the mural. The white spot had a glossy sheen like it had just been painted. Whether it covered up a previous image or whether the vibrant mural was so knew that the artist hadn't finished this spot beyond prepping it, Ken didn't know. It still looked wet, so he reached out to touch it.
It seemed to release a static discharge as he touched it. He tried to pull away but his fingers held firm. It was more like paste than paint--industrial super glue type paste. Ken struggled as his fingers started to sink into the wall. Now his entire hand had been absorbed into the plaster. He noticed that the skin about his wrist had taken on a vibrant glistening appearance, not unlike paint. He felt like his entire body was changing, becoming liquid. Suddenly, he felt a suction, not unlike the tide going out, except it was his whole body. He flowed down his own arm, as his clothing collapsed in an empty heap. His head was the last to go as he fought to remain human and in the room. He saw his paint stained clothing laying like paint rags in a heap, as he merged into the painted surface of the wall. His last minute cry for help was cut short, as he became painted to the wall. He mentally kicked himself for not calling for help sooner. He prayed someone would notice him before he dried completely.
The door opens, and another young man enters.