Blood on the Canvas (Boyxboy)

Ch. 2. Doorway

October 10, 2010

I grab the next pencil, tracing the image that's stitching itself together in my mind. Line after line, eraser cutting through, carving paths in the wrought iron trails. All thoughts leave my mind until only one thing is left, slowly leaving as it's transcribed onto the canvas on my knees.

Setting down my pencil, I grab the pencils that will bring the drawing to life and add swathes of colour, the rich, earthen colours of wood, the uneven, inconsistencies of skin. I grab my reds and continue, pouring my feelings through the carved wooden rod in between my fingers and into the paper where they manifest into the picture.

I sit up, satisfied with it. It's different from most drawings, a hidden message lies behind the wax and graphite, not unlike the others. It's the message that's different, when these changes started, I can't tell.

Grabbing my black fountain pen, I write my signature: E~10-10-'10~S

I swing my legs off the bed and stand up, putting the large art paper in my giant leather-clad folder where I keep my journal of art. The best part of keeping a journal of drawings is that only you can interpret it, you don't have to worry about people taking it, and I can always try to sell them for money. Win, win!

"What's that picture about? And I still don't get how that's supposed to be some kind of diary, I swear this is some kind of cosmic joke, making us siblings!" Her silky cocoa hair swinging over her shoulder with a flick of her pink manicured nails as too sweet words pour from her glossy lips.

"You wouldn't get it. Do you need anything, sister?" I say, matching her snide tone, mine guarded with sweetness, lacing venom around "sister".

"Well anyways, mom wants me to drive you to camp soon. Are you ready?"

"Yes, and it's a school, not camp. Why, exactly am I the one getting shipped of to a Christian boarding school? You're the "sinning" tramp."

I grabbed my bags and rushed forward to catch up with Ria as she pushes forward, her stilettos clicking sharply against the wood flooring. I trail along, feeling the weight of my bag bearing down on my shoulder, journal in one hand, the other trailing against the grey, flowery wallpaper, sending tingling waves up my fingertips, doing little to soothe the emotions welling up in my mind, forming my next drawing.

I sat back, lounging behind the drivers seat were my sister drove, one hand on the leather steering wheel another resting on the fear shift of the red convertible. Brushing a cool hand through my light black hair, I glance out the window as we enter the freeway and the city I grew up in starts to shrink, becoming smaller, the scenery looking peaceful, and better yet, paintable, I should paint this when I get to the school, I should have some time to myself before anything happens, I stop thinking to admire the view.

As I watch, I feel a peacefulness fall over me, despite the turmoil in my head. I feel my thoughts dim and my eyelids being dragged down by the anchors of sleep.

Before I know it, I lose consciousness and I am overcomes with a lasting sleep.

•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*

My eyes open to the sudden cease of noise, the cloud of sleep dissipating from my eyes as realization takes over and my memory solidifies into my familiar picturesque way of thinking. Looking forward, I see Ria looking back at me, her usual slutty look wiped clean off her face, "C'mon, ready to start your new life?"

I look up, "As ready as one can be. Thanks for the ride Maria, I can take it from here." I step out if the car feeling the soft browning grass under the thin layer of crunching frost.

Maria looks over wistfully, "I don't mean to be so distance you know, and you're perfectly welcome to call me Ria too." Closing the door, she backs up and drives away leaving me to observe the grounds after flashing a little smile of reassurance, not showing any of her white pearls of teeth.

I take a few steps backwards and turn slowly, taking in the school and the mid-autumn flora with an observant scowl. My eyes quickly land on a gaunt granite bench right underneath a tall, aged willow, its twisting trunk and branches marked with gnarls and whorls and it's gold and and scarlet leaves casting a cool shadow over the sun-scorched grass.

Skimming the area, I quickly find a pathway twisting towards the beige and red adobe building where I'll be spending my year. I step onto the grey speckled cobblestone littered with weeds peeking up from the cracks and the multi-colored leaves and occasional forest-green moss. I make my way, heel-toe, feet scuffing the stones, and make my way briskly to the bench, wiping the trace of frost off before sitting down, and felt the cold stored in the granite seep into my flesh, soothing against the harsh sun.

I pull my art journal out, admiring the worn leather bound folder before opening it with a satisfying crackle. I take out the paper I was working on in the morning, looking over it with a frown. With the satisfaction and emotion gone from the morning, I saw flaws and got to work fixing my shading and colour flaws. I blur out any outside happenings and focus on my drawing, letting my mind go blank, ignoring a vague irritation.

A fair hand with short, manicure nails wave in front of my face. I softly brush the paper a bit before looking up in question. She had deep sapphire blue eyes and golden hair with natural streaks of rich ebony tied back in a ponytail.

"Not perfect enough for you?" Her plump, cherry blossom lips were quirked up at the corners, the left more than the other, in a friendly smirk, exuding cheer and happiness.

When I don't reply, she sits down next to me, smoothing down her plaid red skirt, "So, that's an... Interesting picture, what made you draw it?" I straighten my back and adjust my position, "I just draw whatever I'm feeling at the time."

"So," She starts, thoughtfully, crinkling her brow as she looks closer at the what I've drawn, "do you normally feel like ripping peoples' chests out?"

I sigh, "It's metaphorical, and I don't even know what the drawing really means sometimes; I never really think about what I draw, it just happens."

She flashes a quick smile, showing her teeth this time, though only a sliver, "What does it mean then? Do you know?"

I lift the paper up, light filtering through it giving me a better perspective. I observe the blackened walls aside the guy I drew. He had almost fair skin, barely tan, and a fake plastered on smile, his eyes covered by shadowy bangs no one I really know, though some familiar features are apparent here and there. A rich walnut door carved onto his torso, opening up, blood and skin resisting as the door breaks free, opening to a pitch black tunnel, a hand reached into the paper through the door to get to the lonely silhouetted figure.

"My friends, or what were my friends, were fake, I suppose. I've been feeling different recently, not normal, as if my friends who seemed so honest and true, may have been a lie, granted that they would be tested. The hand, I think, symbolizes me opening the door, and reaching past the charades of my believed friends, to find that I am alone."

She blinked, a look of impressment on her fair features. "Wow, you've got a ton of talent! And I like the depth of it." She stands up as I grab my blending stick to finish up the drawing. Looking down to her wrist, she checks the shimmering platinum watch that lies there. "School starts tomorrow and the teachers are," she looks off biting her lip, "not very tolerating, so I think it'd probably be the best for you to know where to go, and the way things happen, so come on!" Her hand shoots out and brakes, rigid, by my hand, "I'll show you around!"

I grab my messenger bag from my side and slip my journal I'm there, putting away my pencils. I grab her hand and pull myself up, "Ok then. Sounds good, I'm Elliot by the way."

She strides off, pivoting in her flats, as she turns to face me, "Kay, Elliot! I'm Tara Wing, nice to meet you!"

With that, she spins back around and starts ahead ecstatically. As I rush to catch up, I dig my schedule and dorm information from my pocket and hand to her as I reach her side.

We walk on with optimism. Ready to start anew, I feel eager to start my first day, now that I've gotten a friend. An feeling rises up from my abdomen and into my head, banishing the shroud if darker emotions from recent events, and saw, or rather, felt Tara's image burn itself there.