Depicted [h.s]

prologue

Harry E. Styles

"You all set, pal?" Gemma asks me for the fifth time, and I just stare at her blankly before focusing on the autumn leaves blowing near the pavement.

"I'll take that as a yes," she pats my back and pushes her abnormally pink hair out of her face. "Go on and have fun, or whatever the hell it is that you do. Don't kill anybody and if you do, make sure you bury the body well."

She's trying to get me to laugh but I just turn around with my art supply and head for the one place I like to be, other than my own flat.

I hate how everyone treats me like a child. I'm twenty-fucking-four for Christ's sake. Let me do whatever the hell I like without questioning it, or force feeding me applesauce. And if I don't want to talk, so be it. Why does talking even matter that much? It's overrated because i'd rather feel. That's what matters.

I stare at my feet nearly the whole time I walk there. Actually, the only time I look up is when I have to cross the street. A car honks at me to walk faster, and I pick up the pace before I step once more on the sidewalk. People must be cranky today.

My black shoes stop once a door is in front of them, and I look up to open it. I'm quite tall, the top of my head is nearly touching the corner of the door. Shaking my head, I close it behind me and scamper into the familiar building that I visit every other day. It's rather peaceful in here. That's good because I like it quiet.

Once I get myself situated in the corner, I take out my supply and begin to paint. Red, Yellow, Green, Orange... I'll paint leaves today. After all, it's all that's falling near the window so it'll be easier to depict what they look like. I stared at them this morning, too.

When I begin to paint, it's like I am captured inside of my painting. It's hard realising anything or anyone around me, it's as if I am the painting myself - dotted, splashed, and lined within a single sheet of paper in various colours. It feels calming, and once i'm done I sit in the corner with my materials and stare at what i've created. It's always different every day; frightening, disturbing, sometimes abstract.

But today what i've painted is rather calming. It calms me a lot quicker than anything else and I find myself a little more than hypnotised by my art work.