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chapter three
The only thing that kept me going for the rest of the day, was the knowledge that tonight I would actually be able to go out to the field. Both of my parents worked night shifts, so they didn't know that I often escaped into the field to star gaze. I knew that they wouldn't care anyway, as long as no one around us noticed it. They had already had to deal with having a messed up daughter with an anxiety problem and depression. A daughter that sucked down medicine as though they were candies, only for her to continue hating herself in the end.
And that was why as soon as it was dark enough for the stars to come out, I ran upstairs and grabbed my blanket off of my bed and ran back downstairs. I scurried to the back door and opened it before looking out, seeing the field in front of me. I loved the field, it had been my muse for my paintings since I started middle school.
With my eyes set forward, I headed out and shut the screen door behind me. Hearing it click behind me in a satisfying sound, I headed down the porch steps and looked in direction of the field in front of me. My backyard barely could be considered one, it was only a foot and then the dry grass stretched out as far as the eye could see. I adored the insolation that I often felt when I was alone, it made me feel as though this skyline was only meant for me to see.
I sat down on the porch steps though, knowing that I wanted to wait until it got darker. Besides, I had to let my eyes get used to the skyline above me. Turning my head to the side, I heard only the wind rustling throughout the field, letting me know that nature was at its finest. I smiled slightly and let my pastel pink hair down, feeling it cascade in front of my features. My glasses still sat on my nose, and I flickered my eyes upwards towards the skyline again.
I remembered being little and wishing that I could find Neverland in the cluster of the galaxy that was above me. I wanted to see it and fold my small hands together in a little prayer, wishing with all my heart that I would open my eyes and Peter Pan would be in front of me. I often wondered if it was the fact that I wasn't Wendy Darling that kept Peter Pan away from me and then other times I wondered if Peter Pan was too far away for me to be heard.
I wanted nothing more than to be away from this all. I didn't want to hear the sound of my parents discussing downstairs how I wasn't like other children. I didn't want to hear them talk about how I continued having imaginary friends until I was sixth grade, and I didn't want to hear about the fact that my parents knew that I was strange and they were wondering if they should take me to a therapist so that they could find out what was wrong with me.
My friends got tired of me eventually. They got tired of me not hanging out with them anymore. They got tired of the fact that I still tried to hold onto believing in Peter Pan, and they got tired of me saying that if Peter Pan wouldn't come then surely the Mad Hatter was expecting me in Wonderland. I relied too much on the children world that writers had created that I didn't know that I was disconnected away from the world that was around me.
I could hear everyone around me whispering when I went to high school, all of them looking at me as thought they expected me to suddenly spread wings and fly away. And within time when they realized I had sheltered myself away from them, within time when they realized that I had no social interaction towards my own generation they left me alone. Yes, I knew that they continued to look at me but I knew that they were watching me as though I was a rare animal that they were taking notes of, wondering what strange thing I would do next.
And that was why, with art I never felt abandoned. With art I could be as strange as I wanted to. With art I could paint whatever came into my mind and no one around me would judge me. With art my parents could actually smile at me and clasp their hands against my shoulders, thankful that there was something that wasn't out of the norm when it came to me.
And with the stars, I always found inspiration.
And as the sky before me revealed more of the galaxy, I got up and knew that it was time to gather inspiration some more.
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Supernova | ✓
Short StorySeventeen-year-old Azalea Greene was one of those girls in school that often was found with rings underneath her eyes and wearing her glasses more than her contacts. Being an insomniac, she spent most of her time at night either painting or wanderin...