Cover Your Tracks [HS][2014 VERSION]

7. Paint You Wings

"I painted a picture of the things I wanted most, to color in the darker side of all my brightest hopes . . ."

"Okay class," Mrs. Dahlia, my art teacher, begins, "today we're going to try something different. Normally I give you a subject, and a theme that you go by. Right now I want you to create whatever you want; it can be something you love, something you hate, or just something that you think is beautiful. Do whatever you want, but make sure it means something to you. While doing this project please keep in mind that this is something you're going to have to present in front of the class."

My heart drops. One of the things that I don't like about high school is having to do presentations. Teachers say they want you to share your information with the class, but really, they just like stepping back and seeing us fuck up under pressure.

"Get started, I'll be at my desk if you need anything."

And with that, people begin to stand up and meander around the room in search of art supplies. I walk over and grab an easel, carrying it over to a secluded corner of the room before setting it down. Then I walk away and grab necessary paint and brushes, as well as a palette.

Once I have all of my materials and supplies set up next to the easel, I grab a paintbrush. My eyes glance down to my palette, which contains every color of the rainbow and some shades in between. My hand hovers over them as I mentally decide which to use, considering all of the possibilities and directions in which I could go.

I finally come to a decision as the tip of my brush dips into the black puddle of paint, immersing itself in the dark liquid. I don't think about what I'm doing as I make a stroke across the paper— I just go with my instincts and let go.

First, I craft a chain out of ink as cold and dark as the metal thing itself. On both ends of the chain are shackles, and inside those are a pair of hands. I highlight the knuckles with white, showing how the skin stretches across them from the way the hands are balled into fists. Veins trail down the hands, making themselves known as they stick out beneath the skin.

I paint the arms using shades of whites and grays, then switch over to black once again. A shirt is drawn, with holes decorating the fabric. I pick up a new paintbrush and dip it in red ink, sketching scratch marks along the holes that reveal the skin beneath. The wounds ooze with blood, producing dark stains on the shirt as a result. Some of the red liquid drips down onto the handcuffs, running trails around the chain links.

Then, I draw in the collarbones and neck before outlining the face. The person's identity remains a mystery as I leave their face blank, moving on to work on the hair. Without thinking, I move my brush in a swirl motion, creating dark curls. The strands are just long enough to cover the area where the ears would be, then they go upwards and pull back into a tan bandana. I realize that this painting depicts Harry, but right now I don't care because I need a muse and he is the perfect source.

Once the hair is done I look over at the blank face. With a flick of the wrist I swab a blob of paint over the spot where the eyes would be.

I add some finishing touches before I take a step back and look at my creation, if you could even call it that. It was utterly morbid, what with its dark colors and morose image. My classmates are going to think I'm absolutely psychotic when they see it, and on top of that, I have to explain what everything represents.

I sigh and look around the room.

Everyone seems to be finishing up, while I stand here, watching them. For a moment I wonder if I have time to discard my painting and start anew, but when Mrs. Dahlia starts to walk towards me, I realize that I'm stuck with what I have.