My BLOOD, Your PAINT - BLUE PERIOD

𝐈𝐈. work hard

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝟏: 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐓 𝐁𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐇 . 𝐈𝐈
𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙣𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙜𝙚𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙖𝙘𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬𝙡𝙚𝙙𝙜𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 ✦:
brain rotting behaviour, anger will be played. Somewhat selfishness will be called out.

𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐏𝐎𝐕:

Shirota escorted me back to class, despite the fact that it was never necessary. There are a lot of recognized backs, but there are a lot of forgotten faces. Because I'm constantly in the rear, I never gaze or search their face. No one turns around even as the doors open and close, as if they are aware of who has entered. While I sat in my seat, the petite woman waived me off and returned to her seat. In times like these, I prefer to be alone so that I may think of new ideas without being interrupted, however I can't help myself when I'm in a class full of people who sit around and do nothing. Others have no idea how hard you want to work in order to have a better future. I study all day and get a failing mark, while others go out drinking and partying with their companions and earn good qualifications. What makes you think that's fair?

I had no choice but to take out my sketchbook and a pencil. After all, this was the Art Period. As requested, I was seated next to a window. I intended to do well in every topic, even this one. It was simple to have a scene in front of you, as anyone might imagine. However, drawing it every time becomes tedious, which is why I frequently skip art class. Many students protest, claiming that this isn't fair and that I'm simply making up excuses; how hypocritical of them, considering that all they do is talk over the teachers and do nothing else with their lives. It irritates me, but not to the point where I would disturb the peace.

I vividly recall the first time I broke something so precious to me, something I used to dismiss as useless. For weekly assembly, everyone was seated in a hall; each year group sat in their assigned spots, and pupils who were going to perform stood near the rear. I was seated next to Okada, a woman whose hair was cropped all the way up to her ear, in a bowl cut with huge doll eyes. They all exhaust me by looking at me for too long. She had a lucky go smile on her face all the time. I'm envious, but why should I be surprised? I'm jealous of everyone, but especially of them.

Okada made numerous comments about my work and how impressed she was as the hall filled up with each passing second, but it was never about me. She was just like the rest of them. Only impressed by the product I produce, but not by me, the creator. Everyone thinks I'm a nothing until I start drawing, which is why I began drawing. That's why I started practicing art in the first place: to boost my self-esteem and gain compliments. However, things did not proceed as planned.

The loud speakers rang through the hall as I nodded and responded with a "thank you." Many people flinched as they heard screeches from the mic. Others, on the other hand, found it amusing and chuckled. Okada was one of them. These items were a waste of time for me, so I didn't bother with them. After all, I'm well aware that I'll never win an award. It will become increasingly difficult for you to even acquire a scrap of paper from any of those merits each year. Each student became increasingly bored as the principal uttered more paragraphs. Some were wiggling their legs, drawing their arms, and fiddling with their uniform hems.