Post by David Moore on Jan 5, 2014 10:47:03 GMT -5
Dave tugged at the neck of his uniform. The school day was only halfway finished and yet he was already impatient to leave. It was unlike him. While normally, he would be more than happy to just hang around at school all day, he found himself extremely detached from what was going on. He had written down all of the notes and answered nearly all of the questions correctly, but he no longer got the minor thrill in excelling that he used. It’s because of that. He sighed and dipped the paintbrush into the water, washing the paint off. Painting was his least favorite class, but he needed more fine arts in his transcript.
He dabbed the brush into some blue, tinted a slightly darker shade than usual. As usual, his painting didn’t look at all like he wanted it to. It was always so difficult to get the thoughts onto the easel. The teacher would look at the painting tomorrow and despite the fact that it looked like it was a disgusting mess, he would get an admirable grade.
It was surprisingly easy to make a travesty of an art project seem like it had deeper meaning.
The blue stain there represents a swirling of sadness, combining into the black: a state of depression. The tinges of red show that even in the sadness there is always something to be passionate about, and the traces of yellow are the rays of hope that are waiting to bloom and illuminate the darkness.
That sounded pretty good. I’ll call it “Light Unto One’s Path” to show that the darkness is not all-consuming, and that the hope can guide you from the stresses of the world.
He smirked in spite of himself. Art wasn’t his thing, but nobody else had to know that.
He suddenly shivered in anticipation, completely shocking him out of his self-praise. “Move Faster,” He quietly implored the clock above the door. He rinsed his brush again before dipping it into green paint. He lazily splattered it in a few choice sections. The green represents a beginning, like a budding sapling. He decided to stop it there. Too much symbolism in a student art class might get him too much attention. He didn’t want the teacher to figure out he was faking it, or worse yet, think he was a true prodigy and start trying to shift him towards a career in art.
The bell rang suddenly, and Dave quickly packed the painting supplies and art project in a safe location to dry before exiting with the other students. He moved through the hallway, his pace faster than usual. Why do people have to walk so damn slow? He arrived to his English class with minutes to spare and pulled out his reading notes on Dante’s Inferno. At least English had some actual symbolism involved in it.
He sat down in his seat and listened half-heartedly to the discussion. Occasionally he was called to offer his input on exactly the nature’s of Dante’s journey through Hell or explain why certain people might be in certain circles. Dave still couldn’t concentrate. What were those… things? He asked himself, but no answer came.
He remained detached and didn’t pretend to be interested in any of things discussed by the people he talked to. They noticed and decided to leave him alone.
When the school day finally ended with the last bell, he let out a sigh of relief. The classrooms felt so confining now. If another one of those black things attacked, he would be trapped behind the students and unable to escape. He hadn’t been able to bring the other creature back like before, and he had quickly given up. He moved into the hall and looked around. He wasn’t sure what to do next. None of his usual past-times seemed interesting.
He dabbed the brush into some blue, tinted a slightly darker shade than usual. As usual, his painting didn’t look at all like he wanted it to. It was always so difficult to get the thoughts onto the easel. The teacher would look at the painting tomorrow and despite the fact that it looked like it was a disgusting mess, he would get an admirable grade.
It was surprisingly easy to make a travesty of an art project seem like it had deeper meaning.
The blue stain there represents a swirling of sadness, combining into the black: a state of depression. The tinges of red show that even in the sadness there is always something to be passionate about, and the traces of yellow are the rays of hope that are waiting to bloom and illuminate the darkness.
That sounded pretty good. I’ll call it “Light Unto One’s Path” to show that the darkness is not all-consuming, and that the hope can guide you from the stresses of the world.
He smirked in spite of himself. Art wasn’t his thing, but nobody else had to know that.
He suddenly shivered in anticipation, completely shocking him out of his self-praise. “Move Faster,” He quietly implored the clock above the door. He rinsed his brush again before dipping it into green paint. He lazily splattered it in a few choice sections. The green represents a beginning, like a budding sapling. He decided to stop it there. Too much symbolism in a student art class might get him too much attention. He didn’t want the teacher to figure out he was faking it, or worse yet, think he was a true prodigy and start trying to shift him towards a career in art.
The bell rang suddenly, and Dave quickly packed the painting supplies and art project in a safe location to dry before exiting with the other students. He moved through the hallway, his pace faster than usual. Why do people have to walk so damn slow? He arrived to his English class with minutes to spare and pulled out his reading notes on Dante’s Inferno. At least English had some actual symbolism involved in it.
He sat down in his seat and listened half-heartedly to the discussion. Occasionally he was called to offer his input on exactly the nature’s of Dante’s journey through Hell or explain why certain people might be in certain circles. Dave still couldn’t concentrate. What were those… things? He asked himself, but no answer came.
He remained detached and didn’t pretend to be interested in any of things discussed by the people he talked to. They noticed and decided to leave him alone.
When the school day finally ended with the last bell, he let out a sigh of relief. The classrooms felt so confining now. If another one of those black things attacked, he would be trapped behind the students and unable to escape. He hadn’t been able to bring the other creature back like before, and he had quickly given up. He moved into the hall and looked around. He wasn’t sure what to do next. None of his usual past-times seemed interesting.
