We were the only group to still be stuck
on the realms of ideas as everyone else had
gotten to their rough drafts. The teacher walked
around and pursed his lips at our empty canvas.
"How are we going to get two different
styles of art to intermingle each other?
You draw so smoothly as if your work is
the ocean and my work looks like— "
"L-Like th-e-e m-mountains that s-surround the sea,
p-pointy edges and r-rough sides. But the mountain
and the s-sea are in unison. The w-water rushes through
the mountain, w-when the rain trickles down or when
water f-f-r-r-reezes on top of the m-mountain like a b-beanie.
The mountain st-t-ops the sea when the waves
get too r-r-ough. The mountain s-s-aves the lives
of the creatures j-j-umping from on-e-e rock to the
next on the sides of the mountain."
"So what now? We have a mountain and water."
I drew a quick sketch of a mountain next to the ocean
in a stained page of the journal.
"You can't think that way. Y-You need to think
outside of the box. Ri-Ri-Rigidity prevents you
from e-e-xperiencing ho-w-w imagination
circ-c-ulates and puls-s-es in everything."
"Rigidity prevents one from going
insane with the swirls and twirls." I chuckled.
He reached over and touched my braid lightly.
I froze in my seat as this was the first time a
different person other than mother and I
to touch my hair.
"What are you doing?" I took a deep breath.
"T-Touch your braid. Even th-hough you might have
tig-gh-t-tened it so the hair d-d-oesn't escape, do-don't you feel
how s-s-m-mooth the sp-i-i-iral is?"
"You sound crazy." I gently pushed his hand away.
"Think a-a-bout it."
The teacher clapped his hands and
opened the main entrance doors.
"Alright you art maniacs, scram."
YOU ARE READING
shades of red
Poetrywhen you have too many thorns, all you can do is paint them in red, because, maybe then, they will look like petals [sequel to shades of blue]
