Picture Us

Chapter 1: Keefe

Keefe Sencen was a lot of things. Bold. Flirtatious. Experimental. But what Keefe Sencen would not be late in submitting this assignment.

He wouldn't allow it. He had spent the last month staring at the piece, eyes boring into the artistic mess that he'd created. A mess he'd shaped with his own two hands (and a paint brush, whom we can't discredit), a mess that would determine if his choice to be an art major was the right one. Sweat beaded his forehead. He'd lifted his hand to clear his waxy sheen on his forehead but dropped it instead. He didn't want the sparkling blob of blue paint to stain his skin, or worse, his hair. No. That would constitute a tragedy. 

He shook his head, his blond hair following him and settling right above his eyebrows, which were now knitted in concentration. He could feel the muscles in his forehead tense. He was doing everything he could. But it was no use. He sighed and dipped his head, an act of defeat. His hair nearly touched the fresh paint that he had just added to the piece, which was his latest source of regret. The assignment had to be done by 4 P.M, and the digital clock that glowed bright in the corner read 3:47. It was too late. 

He weighed the options presented. To hand in his unfinished work, unsatisfied, or to risk his entire assignment by submitting it past the due date. "Damn it", he grabbed the painting, fumbling as he struggled to grasp onto the canvas, and sprinted out of his dorm, praying that he would make it in time. Making his way through what seemed like an endless stretch of campus between him and the art office, he cursed himself as his fingers squelched the fresh paint. He stopped at a giant door. He fumbled with one hand to push the heavy wood, before entering. He was gasping for air as he lifted his head to the large clock planted above the office door, it read 4:07PM.

"Oh no, no, no, NO, this cannot be happening, I haven't been late to an assignment...ever, why now of all times, this is a massive task!" Keefe muttered under his breath, with the realisation that he was going to get at best an 83% for his work hitting him hard; he was late to an assignment, one that was especially important, and that his work was unfinished. "Fuck". He opened the art office's door shakily, scanning the room for anyone that may witness him in his dishevelment. Luckily, the room was empty. He hesitantly walked towards where his stand was, on the far right of the room, paint splotches covering the walls. Memories of old art lessons held here would surely not be forgotten, least by the walls that bore the paint like a crime scene. He placed the canvas down and filled in a sheet. 

KEEFE SENCEN, SUBMITTED AT 4:07PM TITLED: Eternity

Keefe stepped back, looking down to avoid making eye contact with his artwork, trying to suppress the massive amount of shame he felt thinking about the wrath of his father, and the dissatisfaction his professor would feel looking at it. He let out a sigh, turning back towards the door and sprinting out of it, holding back tears and a horrible feeling of failure sinking in. He had just submitted a piece of work that he wasn't satisfied with for an assignment worth 33% of his final grade. What was he going to tell his father? Daddy Dearest would have some snarky comment prepared for him the next time he called. All that determination to prove them wrong about his career choice was fizzling away. To console himself, he dragged himself to a café near the campus.

He ordered himself a hot chocolate and sat on a table, brooding and scrolling through Instagram, when a girl with blond hair that hung just below her shoulder, and brown eyes that revealed flecks of gold in the sun, sat opposite him.

"Hey, Keefe." She smiled. Every time Keefe saw her, the first thing he noticed was her depleting right eyelashes. As a joke, he'd mentioned she should pluck out her left ones too, and now her left eyelid was looking particularly abused.

"Hi, babe," he flashed his signature smirk, the kind he'd flashed whenever he had a girl take even the slightest romantic interest in him. "How's it going?"

"Ha! I should be asking you," she chuckled. "I saw you sprinting across the campus as if your pants were on fire."

"Just submitting an art piece." He paused dramatically. "Seven minutes late."

A split second passed. Sophie crinkled her nose and squinted her eyes at him. Her lips were stretched wide, but not in her usual grin, but instead downward. Oh. How could he forget? One of the biggest points of contention between the two was that he was an art major, which was a massive no-go to Sophie Foster: student extraordinaire, and political sciences major.

The second passed. She was back to smiling now, but the twinkle in her eyes that he'd caught when she sat down was lost, replaced with a dimmed expression, dissatisfaction footnoting her feigned joy.

"Well, Keefe, it was really nice to see you again." She said, getting up and tucking her chair into the table. "I'll see you around. Oh! And for our date tomorrow."

He gulped the last bit of his hot chocolate and nodded. "Bye, babe!" 

She waved to him and left the café. Keefe sighed. He got up, deciding that the only way to get rid of the nausea that had him wanting to puke his guts out was to roam the college campus.

He entered the university, gazing at the sign that read, in raised metal lettering: FOXFIRE COLLEGE and its motto, FOR THE ELITE AND ASPIRING.

Walking around the campus put him into a relaxed state of mind. He sat on the ground, the birds in the trees and the mindless conversation between students falling into a familiar harmony. He was drinking in the sight of the beauty around him and felt the overwhelming urge to turn it into an art piece.

He grabbed the sketchbook he always carried and flipped to the latter pages, ignoring his previous pieces that he'd done. Many were of the messes he made, and some were more experimental, consisting of abstract art and his dabble in photography, but now he was focussing on his favourite mode of artistic expression: coloured pencils.

He sat there, allowing the colours the paint the page a million shades of green, blue and beige. He only got up when he noticed his watch ticking away. He stuffed his sketchbook away and tore through the frigid wind to his dorm, where he plonked on the bed and continued to project the scenery he'd memorised into his sketchbook.