Between the lines

Chapter 3

It started small: a couple of comments from her mum while scrolling through Facebook.

"Have you seen that graffiti going up around town?" she said, holding her phone up for Madison to see a blurry photo of a mural someone had shared. "People are calling it 'art,' but it's still vandalism, isn't it?"

Madison glanced at the image—a golden bird with its wings stretched wide, flying over jagged red streaks that could've been flames. She felt a pang of annoyance at her mum's dismissive tone. "It's not just graffiti," she said. "It's... expressive."

Her mum frowned. "Expressive or not, it's illegal."

Madison didn't reply. There was no point arguing with her mum about something like this.

Later that afternoon, she saw another post about the bird mural while scrolling on her own phone. The caption read: Another masterpiece from Llyndarren's mystery artist! Who are you?

Madison stared at the photo for a long time, studying the details. The feathers on the bird looked like they were glowing, the paint strokes impossibly precise. It wasn't just a quick tag or some random scrawl—it was intentional.

She started noticing the other pieces too. Walking through town, she spotted a mural on the side of an old newsagent's: a pair of hands breaking free from a chain. Further down the high street, there was a striking piece of a rain-soaked umbrella, the colours running down the wall like tears.

The more she looked, the more it seemed like the murals were everywhere.

By the time she reached the café where she was meeting Evie, her head was buzzing with questions.

"Have you seen that new bird mural?" she asked as she slid into the booth opposite Evie.

Evie raised an eyebrow. "The gold one? Yeah, it's all over Instagram." She took a sip of her milkshake. "It's pretty cool, right?"

Madison nodded, pulling out her phone to show her some of the other murals she'd spotted. "Whoever's doing this is amazing. They're so... bold."

"Yeah, but who has time for all that?" Evie said, leaning back in her chair. "And the nerve to do it where everyone can see. I'd be terrified of getting caught."

"That's what makes it so interesting," Madison said. "They're not just tagging—they're making a statement. Like, the chain mural? That's obviously about freedom or breaking out of something."

Evie smirked. "Breaking out of detention, maybe."

Madison laughed, shaking her head. "I'm serious. It's like they're trying to say something, but no one knows who they are."

"Maybe it's a group," Evie suggested. "Like, one person comes up with the ideas and another one paints."

"Maybe," Madison said, though she wasn't convinced. The murals felt too personal, like they came from one person's mind.

"Hey, didn't you bump into Ryan the other day?" Evie asked, changing the subject. "He's artsy. Maybe he knows something."

Madison froze for a moment, caught off guard. "Ryan? No way. He's..." She paused, realising she didn't know what to say. She hardly knew Ryan at all, really.

Evie grinned. "You're blushing."

"I am not," Madison said quickly, though her cheeks felt warm. "He's just... I don't know. Quiet. Mysterious."

Evie wiggled her eyebrows. "Ooh, mysterious."

Madison rolled her eyes, but she couldn't help smiling.

Later that evening, as she walked home, Madison passed by the library and spotted a new piece on the side of the building. This one wasn't a mural—it was smaller, just a single word spray-painted in looping black letters:

Listen.

She stopped in her tracks, staring at the word. It was simple, but it felt deliberate, like a whisper in the chaos of the other murals. She could feel the hairs on the back of her neck standing up.

Who were they?

Madison walked the rest of the way home, her thoughts spinning. The murals weren't just beautiful—they were becoming a part of the town, a conversation everyone was having. Even people who hated graffiti were talking about it.

She couldn't help but wonder: what would it feel like to create something like that? To put your feelings on a wall for the whole world to see?

By the time she reached her room, she was filled with a strange, restless energy. She flipped open her sketchbook, her pencil hovering over the page. For a moment, she thought about starting something—maybe a mural idea of her own. But she hesitated.

She wasn't the mystery artist.

For now, all she could do was wonder.