~chayonz
p.s. i was thinking of moving this to the romantic fiction section. any ideas how to do that?
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The yellow soaked brush tip glided across the rough canvas. I tilted my head to the side to get a better view of the faint pencil lines. My wrist moved with the motion of the brush, every stroke, every line moved smoothly and diligently across the canvas.
I pressed harder and then slightly lifted as i made a strong curve which became the luminescent light reflecting on the hindquarters. Not to bright, not to dark, perfect. I smiled at the artwork. This one was my best yet.
Suddenly I yelped and jumped at the sound of a slammed door, slammed open to be precise. And then to my horrific despair I accidentally dropped the paintbrush to the floor, scarring the canvas as it descended.
I watched as if in slow motion, or so it seemed, a bright yellow line growing on my masterpiece and work of art, becoming completely destroyed in the process. I stared in absolute shock at the long yellow line which seemed to slash the black horse in two.
Shit.
Raged, I twisted around in an instant towards the accused intruder.
“What the hell?!” I snarled. The intruder, to be exact, was none other than Ron Florings, the one I least expected, nonetheless wanted to see. He looked startled at my sudden outburst, but Ron Florings was always known for his talent in acting. A black loose Jansport bag hung from one shoulder and a white blank canvas was tucked beneath the other.
“What? What for?” he asked in as if he had been unjustly blamed. His voice said sincere confusion, his grey eyes said otherwise.
“You know damn well what for.” I shot at him, glaring, and hoping that by some supernatural luck, my eyes would shoot red laser beams at him, permanently destroying that face of mockery.
Slowly I saw his features change from honest sincerity to downright ridicule. He gave me a small smirk and continued walking towards one of the many spare seats in the room. He set his canvas down on the easel and dropped his bag to the floor.
“You’re not even sorry?!” I cried out loud, looking at him from over my canvas, amazed that he could have a clear conscience after what he did, well maybe not amazed for it was a known fact that he chose to ignore it regularly, but I was frustrated beyond words.
“Sorry for what? Entering a door?” he laughed. “Oh, should I give you a minutes notice before and crawl under the door as not to slam it and that’s only if I could even by any chance get your permission?” His eyes weren’t on me, obviously he thought that this argument wasn’t worth his time which his sarcastic tone clearly implied.
“Did you even see what happened to my work?” I screamed, now on my feet and waving my arms around wildly. “Do you have any idea how long it has taken me to paint this?!” I twisted my stand around to present to him the devastation to my piece. Yet he remained unchanged at the sight of my severed horse.
“So are you saying that it is my fault that you have nerves of a damn rabbit?” he scoffed.
On normal terms I would’ve just let something like this pass, I’d still be annoyed obviously, but I would’ve forgiven that person as long as it was an accident, but Ron Florings was no accident and neither were his actions. Its common knowledge to every artist that an art room is a reverent place of peace and quiet and not one in which you should go banging about in.
I also knew that he was perfectly aware that I was here for every time a student enters the art room, signing a sheet of entry was mandatory. His name would’ve been right under mine for no one else had come in or signed on for the room was empty except for me.
There was no way that he could’ve missed it. And this was besides the fact that his arrogant behavior obviously showed that his actions were full of purpose.
“You did that on purpose you piece of…” I was too frustrated to finish my sentence. I growled and let out a cry of frustration. At this very moment I would’ve been more than happy to walk over to him and wipe that smirk right off his face, but I knew that nothing else would change his attitude. So all I did was clench my teeth, grab my supplies, and stomp off with my ruined piece. I wasn’t planning on wasting my breath on low life like him.
