At the tender age, a vibrant young girl was snatched away from her loving family, forced to endure 13 long years under the oppressive rule of her callous step-parents. These heartless guardians not only neglected her but harboured a deep-seated hatr...
We were currently sneaking back to our rooms with all our shopping bags, giggling like idiots. I put one step on the stairs and was about to put another when I heard a voice echo round the whole room, running shivers down my spine. I turned around and put on the most innocent face I could master up, and so did Caroline.
It was funny how all the boys stood arms crossed glaring at their mother who could whoop their ass any second from now. All the attention was focused on Caroline, and I used it as an opportunity to sneak upstairs.
Once in my room, I jumped on the bed and sighed. I was bored and needed something to do. I rummaged through my shopping bags and found all the art supplies I had purchased. Colour pens, glitter, and other art materials were scattered across the bed.
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I looked at my artwork and I have never been more afraid in my life. I used colour pens, but yet it turned out like this. The lines were jagged, the colours clashed in a chaotic dance, and the overall image seemed to exude an unsettling energy. I couldn't understand how something that was supposed to be an expression of creativity and beauty could turn into something so unnerving.
I threw the paper on the floor, not having the time to crumple it, and started drawing another one, hoping it would become better.
As I sketched, my mind raced with questions.
What had gone wrong?
Was it a reflection of my inner turmoil?
As I continued to work on my new piece, a sense of unease lingered in the air. It felt as though the room itself was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen. My hands trembled slightly as I carefully applied each stroke of colour, trying to create something that felt right.
But as I neared completion, a chill ran down my spine. The image before me seemed to shift and warp, as if it were alive. I blinked, trying to dispel the illusion, but the feeling persisted. It was as if the artwork held a secret that it was desperate to reveal.
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I looked at my drawing and couldn't subside the lump in my throat. It was a peculiar feeling, one that I couldn't quite put into words. Although I can't cry, I still feel the pain in my heart, like a normal human being.
