Stuff I wrote for (most likely) English

2nd

The Painted Walls

"It's too dark," she said, intrigued by the color pallete choice of the young, frenzic painter. She had wanted a new color in her spare bedroom. Originally bland, egg yolk white, the bedroom belonging to a young college student, was stained with dirt and grim. The patches of residue in the carpet, along with the indents of where the furniture stood, still visible. A hammer laid in the middle of the room. The middle age widow, having the desire to do as she pleases, decided to repaint and decorate her home.
She stared across, intensely, at the finished, etuccso wall where an open window trailed in a winter breeze.
"Amelia, shut the window, it's too cold in here," she ordered,her breath now visible to the eye. The painter glared at her, while the quirky, young servant moved gracefully across the room and, with a hard tug, she quickly shut the window. The afternoon was dark and covered with a glistening white snow. She adjusted her pale, ivory coat to cover her right shoulder. Her left shoulder became uncovered. She looked at the painter with wild interest, wondering how one person could paint the walls of a home and not get bored. Then she thought of her hobby. She never got bored.
"Madam, would you like me to re adjust it once again?", the green eyed painter said, clearing his throat. His hands were cold, as well as dry. He couldn't keep painting if the snarky, stuck up widow couldn't agree on the correct color. He tried to keep a pleasant grin. The widow looked at the single painted wall.
" Maybe lighter. Or perhaps darker. Give me a moment to think." The widow walked out of the room, pacing along the corridor. Usually it would never take her this long to make up her mind. To many things are bothering her. Looking down on her mahogany floor, she thought to herself if it was right to do this. The painter, still glaring, was imagining the the end of the day, where he would go home and have a drink. Because of drinking, the 37 year old painter had an unhealthy lifestyle. Balding head, beer belly, and unkempt facial hair, the man had no one to Impress at his home. The pacing widow sighed. She looked around the room once more and walked to her balcony. It was snowing lightly. The ground frozen beneath her well the railing covered with snow. She looked up towards the gray gloomy sky. She took a breath of air.
"How horrid," she whispered softly into the snow, " it seems as if the storm is coming". She heard shuffling in the bedroom. The painter still looking for the correct color. The widow, irritated, went swiftly back inside the house and stepped into the room once again. She gasped. The painter had started a new color, a bright white color. The widow screeched at the sight. The painter turned around as he saw hammer swinging towards him. He, surprisingly, dodged it. The hammer stuck on the freshly painted wall. The widow had thrown it at him from the center of the room. She was quite the sight. She was red and furious. It seemed as a steam would've come out of her ears. She ran towards him and he closed his eyes of pure fear. But he felt nothing. He opened his eyes to see the widow staring directly at him with her icy blue eyes. Well it seemed as if her face had grown old her eyes were electrifying and filled with youth and lies. She then grinned him. It wasn't a polite grin, but rather a mischievous, gruesome grin.
" I don't like this color," she said with the plan forming in her head. The painter nodded his head rapidly. She sighed. " Must I do everything myself? Give the color here. I'll go down to my basement and get the correct colors. Come with me. The paints will be very heavy."
She picked up two cans of paint and nodded her head towards the other two. The painter quickly dropped his paintbrush, grab the two paint cans, and followed her. As they pass the rooms, the painter quickly how to glance through them. One was elegant organized, another wasn't quite as organized but still very elegant. The walls were painted an ivory white. As they were crossing the last room down the hall he noticed that it was slightly ajar. He stopped for a quick second I took a quick peek. This room was not like the others. While the others were ivory white and semi-organized, this one was empty. The only thing that stood apart was the color of the walls. He heard her call to him. He looked at her and was surprised to see an open door. She was holding it open with half of her body inside the room.
" The room is quite dark, Ms. Natasha," the painter said staring into the darkness as he gulped. He looked at her and froze. He did not expect her reaction. His eyes widen at the sight of her grinning a pleasant smile.
" Now Alister," she began as she walked Into the dark room," it's just the dark. We mustn't be afraid. All we need to do is find the light switch and then we'll have no fears. Come now. We must search in here before it gets dark. I'm sure you'd like to get home and relax." He swallowed the bits of courage he was able to intake and followed her into the unknown. The shadows covered his eyes. The door still open behind him had not helped because Natasha kept moving, stirring behind him. He tried to look around, he looked down to see his shaky hands but all he could see was darkness.
" The light should be around here somewhere. Just try to feel around", she said, with a ring in her voice. He stopped, completely frozen. He could feel chills on his body and almost stopped breathing. He frantically waved his arms around in the air around him to find a light switch. His pulse rushing saying Hurry, hurry! As he continued to move forward he felt a bump on the right side of his hip. He grabbed hold of the object with his hands. It was hard, smooth and cold. He was frantic and moved away. He was out of breath and felt something crawl on his neck and head. He shrieked and smothered the object with his hand. With his heart still beating, he yanked it, hard. Then light. He backed away, shielding his eyes from the shine of yellow. He squinted and readjusted his vision. He looked around and there by the cold surface, stood Ms. Natasha smirking, waiting. She stared at him with the glare of a lion.
"Oh, good. You found the switch," she said, as the painter's shaking hand still gripped the small chain. She passed by him, grazing him gently on the shoulder. He shuddered as she passed and a cold breeze followed. His knees gave out and he fell onto the floor. His hand became covered in paint. He picked up his shaking hand and stared at it. He found amusement at how only half of his hand was covered in paint (his palm side) and the other was as clean as a painter's hand could possibly be.
When he was younger, his hands were smooth and pink. He was able to swipe the food from his siblings and punch a board through. His hands were able to carry the weight of a man and paint 10 rooms in a day. Now his hands were stained with heavy paint and the only way to stop the drinking was working, but even then he could contain his hand from picking up the bottle. He held back tears.
Ms. Natasha stood over him with silence. She looked shocked. She then smiled an gentle smile and held out her hand.
"Come along now Alister. We have much work to do. We can't have you going down there with the rat s now, can we? Come on. Up, up you go," she said, grabbing the painted hands of Alister Green. He forcefully pulled away once he stood up. She blinked at him.
"The p-paint. W-where is it?", he questioned, his head churning. He tried to calm his nerves.
"Right in this storage closet. I have the perfect paint! Come."
She opened another door leading into the farther edge of the corner. She walked quickly and hesitated for a second. She quickly glanced at Alister behind her fragile, covered shoulder. He was looking around the semi-lit basement. He quickly glanced to one side, looked down, looked to the other, glanced down and looked up at Ms. Natasha Blue.
Ms. Natasha looked away, and began to unlock the door. She swung the way the door opened.
"Go on in, Mr. Green. I'll be right behind you."
Mr. Green glanced at her and walked in. What he say was horrifying. He turned to run out however the door was shut at his face immediately. He screamed, hollered. Before the door closed the room was painted the same color as the paint he had previously been given. He saw a teenaged man in the corner huddled, rocking back and forth. The room had more bodies. And the walls were red.