Blood oozed out of my mouth. One more hit to my stomach made me see just black with no stars.
“You are pathetic. Nobody wants you. You were a mistake, do everyone a favour and leave”, he sneered at me making me whimper. His friends started laughing and as he turned around to laugh with them, I took the opportunity to make a dash for my room.
After making sure the door is locked, a tired and painful sigh left my mouth. Taking the first-aid kid, I started mending the broken pieces together to be broken again.
I could see my world, the good one, from the mirror. Through the reflection, I saw my incomplete colorful world rather than my black and white. Even though the colorful world had different shades of grey, they were better than my black world.
Tending my broken nose, I made my way to my world. The canvas sitting with all its glory near the window, reflected the light from the streetlight making the grey shine like silver.
The fine strokes made with brush mixed with the rough patches of strokes of all greys reflected her world more than she ever wanted to show. The clear waves and curves paved the way to her soul in a way that it was straight yet anyone could get lost.
A light reflected on the grey with some small reflecting object made her look outside her window. Her eyes meeting the silver pen scribbling on the paper in a rough yet calm angry manner by none other than the so called bad boy of the nearby town school.
His face showed patience and calmness whereas his eyes were storm grey, ready to destroy whatever comes in the way. The grey showing the colors that weren’t even possible.
The lonely tear making the way down his cheek said everything that he didn’t say and no one listened. His words, not spoken, were woven with so much emotion on the papers showing the rainbow of just grey.
His eyes met hers, they nodded at each other, tired to no length. Both of their eyes went towards the yellow house with all the yelling. A pretty brunette came out, she was more than tired with the daily shit, that razor became her best friend.
Wearing a tutu, the ballet dancer covered her scars with bracelets and long sleeves. Her moves showing her life story letting her show her emotions. Each step or move she took, made her let go of everything in the moment.
Each art, whether painting, writing or dance or any other form, is inspired from something or another. Art comes from heart, the heart which has experienced different for themselves as well of others.