Artbeat

Prologue

I let my brush dance across the canvas, allowing one last gentle stroke to finish of the piece. With a soft touch, the final detail was added, and the artwork felt complete. At last.

There I sat in my school's art room, smiling at the sight of my third finished piece of the week, knowing my vision was now fully alive. The most satisfying thing to me was finally finishing an art piece that may have taken hours or even days, several mistakes and restarts. As long as I'm satisfied with the end result, it's always worth every second I put in.

The room was quiet, as if holding its breath in anticipation. Time stood still for a moment, allowing the artwork to shine in all its beauty. I laid down my brush, as its work was done.

Not a second longer, the quietness was interrupted by the person entering the door to the art room behind me.

"That's one beautiful piece, Miss Carson", I heard a familiar voice say, his shoes hitting the ground as he approached.

"I think it's beautiful too. It's different from my usual style and preference...but beautiful", I put my paints in order without sparing a glance at Mr Donovan, my art teacher.
Mr Donovan, my mentor and encourager to try new things regarding art. He was always there to support my passion when nobody else was there to do the same.

Pretty nice to feel like someone sees something in you especially when you don't get that all the time. And which is why I also highly respected him.

There was a long pause in our conversation. I supposed he was taking in the art piece like I was so I didn't mind the silence.

"School ended four hours ago. Don't you think it's about time you went back home?", he sat on the stool not to from me.

Wow. Time flies.
"You don't have to wait for me"

"I'm not. I have to lock the doors", he said making me sound stupid, "I'm in charge of that because of a certain student who won't leave the art room and school along with the others"

I exhaled at the realization that I had been keeping Mr Donovan here at late hours. But mostly at the realization that I had to go back.

"...Is everything okay, Miss Carson?"

I stood up from my stool, taking one last glance at the canvas, before picking up my school bag and finally facing my teacher.

His grey eyes, magnified by the lenses of his wire-rimmed glasses, were filled with concern.

I simply hummed yes, "I'll get going now. I'm sorry for keeping you here. It was never my intention", I walked to the exit door.

He followed behind me shortly after, locking the door to the art room on his way out without saying a word.

I stepped outside for the first time in apparently four hours, the last rays of sunlight fading. I exited the school gates. The street lights had already flickered to life, casting a cold, unforgiving glare on the empty streets. Their harsh, artificial light seemed to mock me, a stark reminder of the darkness that had consumed my world.

The distant hum of cars and chatter of passersby only served to emphasize my isolation.
The night air was heavy. The street lights stood like sentinels. As it got even darker, their glow didn't fail to grow colder - A constant reminder of the loneliness that had taken up residence within me. I can't even say that I'm going home. Or had family.

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