Chapter One -
Say what?
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I let my hand freely glide the paintbrush across the canvas, creating vibrant and dull lines of colors, soon resulting in a new favorite piece of work. As I let my brush slide up and down, left and right, an ache forms in my arm from keeping my arm up for a long time. I bite my lower lip to focus on another pain, instead of the pain in my arm. As I add a light grey to the canvas, I let a smile form across my lips.
I was a toddler, in my happy and hyper age of five, I was always outside drawing doodles in the mud or sand. And I know that may seem gross or dirty, but I was that little tomboy who didn't care whether I was messy or not, just let myself do whatever I want freely. But when I was actually introduced to art, it was when my first grade teacher led our class to the art room, and I was in complete awe when I let my eyes search acorss the room. I felt like I was in heaven. But when she told us to draw a tree, which really wasn't that hard, I took my time while everyone else drew brown sticks then big green blobs on top of the thin line. But I made a thick trunk, mixed with dark and light brown, even added in a little bit of yellow, then added branches leading out across the sky which was at least fifty shades of different blues. I added leaves to the branches, coming out as a beautiful green.
Now, what you may be thinking is that "How can a five year old paint slash draw like a professional?" But it wasn't professional at all, it was just my imagination of what my tree would look like. And since I was so young, I had no experience in painting or drawing what-so-ever. But it was completely different from the other children.
But, back to my little life story, my teacher was walking by every table and I guess mine caught her eye. And, quick little fact, my teacher was an amazing artist, which fascinated me to no end.
"That's unique," she has said, with a little glint in her eyes, and a smile gracing her lips.
I was so happy, that I nearly squealed with happiness, but I kept myself under control, and with a smile, with my two front teeth gone, I responded with, "Thank you."
She then promised me to meet her after school, starting tomorrow, but to tell my parents first, and then she would teach me to paint and draw much better, and she wasn't kidding.
But, that all ended when I reached fourth grade, and I had to leave elementary school, and go on to middle. And that meant I had to leave my art teacher and progress by myself.
And I did.
And now, I may or may not be the best artist in my highschool, out of pretty much, everyone. Not to sound conceited or anything. Because I'm not.
"Dani?" a hushed voice asks from the door to my room. I continue with my work, but not before responding.
"Yeah, mom?"
"I have a surprise for you," she pipes up, clapping. I stop where I am and put my brush into the cup and turn around to my mother, to find her right infront of me with the biggest grin on her face.
"Oh, what is it?" I chirp, amused. If possible, her grin grows wider and she shoves an envelope in my paint-covered hand, and points.
"Open it! Open it!"
Sometimes I think my mother is really a teenager. Well, at heart of course.
I shake my head in amusement, carefully opening the slip just to annoy my mother, as she hops up and down impatiently.
"Oh dear lord, open it!" She shrieks, eyes wide. She flails her arms around, then finishes with pointing with both hands to the envelope, jumping.
"Okay! Okay! I am," I say quickly, sliding my nail in the middle of the envelope, creating an opening in it, I take out a slip of paper, and look up to give my mother a confused look.
"Just read it," she urges, pushing the paper closer to me. I arch an eyebrow, but skim my eyes across the message, and I almost squeal in excitement.
Dear Danielle Winters,
This is from the Jameson Art Camp and we would gladly ask you to join us this summer for showing us your talents, as we do focus on art, but we also focus on many other things. We have seen your progress and would happily have you to join us and show everyone your art skills, and we invite you to the talent show, competing with other camps, and we have picked you to represent us for the art and design category.
Please send us your answer, and we will get back to you with further notice.
Sincerely,
Jameson Academy
"Mom, do you know what this means?" I squeak, my eyes as wide as saucers. I drop the paper to the floor, and grab my moms hands in mine.
"Do you?" I ask again, shaking her. She nods quickly and we both squeal and jump up and down like the teenagers we are- or I am, and she isn't.
"Now, go back to your work, and I will see you for dinner, which is in-" she pauses to look down at her watch, then looks back up at me with a twinkle in her eyes, and a smile that seems permanently placed onto her face. "-twenty minutes." She gives me a kiss on the cheek, and walks towards the door to my room and shuts the door quietly. As soon as I hear her feet decsending down the stairs, I grab my pillow, shove it into my face, and scream as loud as I can.
This is amazing! One of the best art schools, asked me, Danielle Winters, to join them this summer to participate in their contest!
I throw the pillow back onto my bed, and look around my room. The right side of the wall was a bright blue, all kinds of art painted across the wall, designs covering it whole. The left, was a black, white designs scattered across the wall, swirls and stars connected along the wall. The wall facing my bed, was a white, all kinds of blues and greys plastered everywhere. And the wall behind my bed, was stripped in the bright blue, black, and white. The same designs on the other three walls, on the strips of colors.
And it was all made by me.
I admit, it was difficult to paint my walls, but it was incredibly fun to do. I sigh with a smile, laying down on my bed, which was a black duvet, with baby blue and white sheets, the pillows blue and white swirls, with one small pillow black.
I then remember my painting, and I squeak with surprise before rushing up and coming face first in the canvas, the still wet paint smudged, and the paint splattered across my face.
Did I ever mention I was a complete klutz?
I frown and walk towards my bathroom, which was plain white everywhere, very boring, but I am thinking to add stuff on the wall soon.
I start the water, and strip myself off my clothes, and take the band out of my bun, and let my hair cascade down my back as I step into the shower.
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"Danielle! Dinner!" My mom yells from the bottom of the stairs. I stop trying to fix my painting, and take off my apron, and wipe off the paint on my hands and face, my hair still damp from the shower. I drop my apron to the floor and sprint downstairs, and I am immediately met with the drool-worthy smell of my mother's famous lasagna. I perk up and walk faster towards the kitchen, and quickly sit myself down at the table, as my mother places plates and utensils on napkins beside the food.
"Mom, where's dad?" I ask quietly, noticing he's not at the head of the table. Again.
"He had to work late again," she says with a weak smile, a sympathetic look in her eyes. She shouldn't pity me, when it's her husband thats never here for dinner, or even their anniversary, which really saddens her, and me too of course. This all started when my mother got pregnant with my baby brother, who is ten years old. So, pretty much, this has been happening for ten years so far.
Even though my mother acts strong, even though she's weak at the heart, I can hear her crying in her room every night he doesn't come home. He joins us for dinner at least once every 4 months, so it's rare he ever stays.
And surprisingly, he never comes home most of time after dinner, which makes me think he might be cheating on my mother.
"He said he wanted to get divorced last week," she whispers sadly, sitting down across from me. I nearly do a spit take and my eyes are wide.
"Say what?" I screech, slamming my hand on the table, but wince when I feel a stinging pain in the palm of my hand.
Ouch.
"He can't fucking do that! He's a bastard!" I scream, standing up from the table. ve
"It's all his damn fault our family is falling apart," I whisper, tears streaming down my face. Before my mother could say anything, I shove my chair and storm upstairs, stomping into my room, slamming the door behind me.
I know he's been gone forever, only coming home once in awhile, or he comes home when we're all asleep, but leaves early in the morning. I know he found someone else. He wasn't working, at all. He was always fucking around with some woman, I bet.
Probably has another family too.
I know I may be jumping to conclusions, but I feel like what I'm saying, is right. I wouldn't be surprised at all if he does, it isn't surprising at-fucking-all.
"Dani?" I hear a young male voice say at the entrance to my room. I turn my head around to see Evan there, my little brother, staring at me with wide eyes.
"Um, yeah, Ev?" I ask slowly, motioning for him to come to me. He may be only ten, but I still treat him like a 3 year old.
"I heard your door slam," he starts, "what happened?"
I sigh, while ruffling his blonde locks of hair. He got his hair from our dad. It still hurts to think of him like that. He got his hazel eyes from my mom, while I got my mother's brunette hair, and I developed my father emerald green eyes, mixed with a blue.
"Wait, did dad come home?" He asks, his eyes lit up with hope. I frown, should I tell him? I don't want to crush his hopes.
"Um, no. Not this time, buddy," I give him a small smile, bringing him in for a hug. He wraps his arms around my neck, while I put mine around his torso. I feel him nod and he unwraps himself from me and gives me a wave, and leaves my room, to go downstairs to finish his dinner.
I don't want to crush his hopes, to tell him that our dad pretty much left us for good. He is a young kid, in the double digits, but he is quite sensitive. He'll cry to a sad movie, even if it isn't that sad, which really says something.
I turn towards my canvas and see the smudged paint again, right in the middle of the piece, and as I stare at it, it comes out as a hill. The hill me and my dad used to sit on every Valentine's Day, because my father would always be my valentine for that day, because he didn't trust me with boys, but I doubt he still cares now.
I frown, as a tear trickles down my cheek, and I shake my head, before picking up the canvas, and putting it where all my other paintings I don't like, tossing it out like the piece of trash it is.
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A/N Okay, new story. I've deleted 4 stories in the past two months xD I just didn't enjoy writing them, but now, I have the best idea, which is this story! Ta da! I've also been working on my writing, so I hope this will be good. :) If you know how to comment, please do :3 Anyway, thank you for reading, and I hope you all read until it's finished, while sharing and sh*t like that. cx
Vomment in the toilet! c:
Btw, picture of Danielle on the side!
