Masterpiece

Prologue

On December 1st, I became the talk of the town and it upset me because I hate to be talked about. Ever since that day, I have become isolated from the outside world more than I already was.

My grandmother told me that in a cruel way what had happened could be able give me the ultimate inspiration to make the painting that every famous artist is always remembered by.

Leonardo da Vinci had The Mona Lisa.
Vincent Van Gogh had Starry Night.
Edvard Munch had The Scream.

And I, Marigold Hart, had nothing.

When I say nothing, I mean it. I haven't been able to draw, paint, or construct anything since it happened.

One look at me and anybody could tell I was a walking disaster. My dark brown eyes had bags under them and with the consecutive lack of sleep, it seems that they would remain there for a while.

One day I couldn't stop my hands from moving and the next everything stopped and I was left just staring into a white canvas. As an artist, I loved all colors. It amazed how you are able to use colors and make something beautiful and abstract. But as I had stared at the color white for hours on end, I began to despite it.

The painting brush was shaking violently in my hand as it neared into the canvas. I withdrew the brush back, and closed my eyes. I tried to get an image in my mind, of anything. There was a long period of time that ideas and images came natural to me. It was like there was many different ways and too much things going in my brain that it had somehow exploded. The aftermath wasn't pretty though and left me desperate to try and get off the block that had been going on for months.

I may have sat on this chair for an hour, maybe two, even three.

The light that had once been shining from the window was consumed over with the dark night sky. Standing abruptly from my chair, I paced around the room as my hands reached for my loose hair pulling it tight.

I let out a shaky breath, "I can do this."

"I may have not won that pageant when I was 12, but I did beat Mason Miller at a mud fight and that has to count for something." I muttered to myself.

I took a deep breathe but it did nothing to ease the knots in my stomach. I grabbed a hair tie from a nearby cabinet that was stocked with necessities. I gathered my long strawberry blonde hair into a high ponytail. From a nearby table, I turned the volume up to my stereo as a song ended and a new one began. I had a playlist I always listened to with songs from different genres that I never seemed to get tired of.

"Something told me it was over..."

"Thanks for the encouragement, Etta." I groaned. I changed the song again and a song by my favorite classic rock band began. I bobbed my head to the beat and turned the volume up to max.

I shook my head and rolled my shoulders to release some tension that had build up. As I bit my bottom lip hard to prevent letting the tremors in my body be released, I took one last long breath.

Walking back to the chair, I picked up a random brush from the rest of the set and dipped it into water before dipping into a red color paint.When the brush touched the canvas, I held my breath and then my hand moved effortlessly. Anxiety had been creeping around the corner waiting to jump out when I had least expected it.

There was a pause before anything else happened.

And then I began to lose my mind. I wasn't sure it was something I could get back.

I screamed in frustration yanking the ends of my hair and kicked the canvas to the ground. My palms reached for my eyes as they threatened to spill warm tears.

"Please, please, please," I croaked out. The screaming and the crying that I had lashed out was useless but it helped to relieve the knot in my throat.

"Sweetheart," her voice made my breathing halt. I turned my head to see my stepmother peek her head around the ajar door. "Maybe you should take a break."

I rolled my eyes as I turned my head around and sulked my shoulders. I knew her next comment would make my mood worsen. The sound of creaking indicated that the door had opened further and the last thing I wanted was for her to come into my space. I stood up and turned around to face her.

"Or," her lips curled into a wicked smirk, "maybe you should just accept your five minutes of fame are over."

I ignored her and decided that today was enough for me to handle. I walked passed her on my way out of my art room. I walked straight to my bedroom and slammed the door shut. Exhausted and barely keeping my eyes opened, I collapsed into my bed.

Before sleep could catch up to me, I couldn't stop the lingering thoughts that surfaced into my mind.

She was right, though it wasn't the fame that was over, it was my sanity. I had to find a way to feel sane again because the thing that made me before was long gone.

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Prologue is now done!!

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