Behind the Painting (Short)

Behind the Painting

Mrs. Morrison asked her class to create a painting of something that means something to them for their first assessment, and had told them that the one with the most meaning would be displayed at the school's annual art gallery. Isabella wrote down the task in her notebook, using simple words to describe the idea she had. Mother, child, love. Those three words summed up her whole painting, because it was something Isabella would never know. Tying her golden hair into a high bun, Isabella started to draft her drawing on an A4 piece of paper, trying to imagine what her mother would look like now. Being an only child, Isabella grew up not knowing her mother, as she passed away in childbirth. Returning to her drawing, Isabella drew a full woman, with big, round eyes that looked down at the child in her hands. The child was looking up at the woman with its hand grabbing a lock of its mothers' hair. Without any colour, it was obvious that there was a bond between the two in the drawing, so Isabella started to recreate her draft onto her canvas.

By the time the bell had rang, indicating class was over, Isabella continued her draft without a worry of missing her free-period. Starting with the basics, Isabella gathered the blue, yellow, white and red paints, in hope of creating a skin tone coloured paint. Matching the colour of the paint to her own skin, Isabella started to fill in the painting where there was exposed skin; the elderly woman's face, her arms and her fingers which rested on the child's belly. Isabella moved the paintbrush with such elegance and patience that it almost looked like it was being painted by Vincent Van Gogh. Laughing to herself at the thought of her ever being as famous as Vincent Van Gogh, Isabella continued to paint, moving to the baby, painting most of the shape of the body the same skin tone as it's mother. Turning to the paints, Isabella added the tiniest amount of black and mixed it as an attempt to add shading and dimension to the painting. Isabella had come into class every week and had started moving on to the more detailed part of the two beings in the paintings and had started to paint their features, moving slow so she didn't ruin the painting. By the end of the week, Isabella had almost finished the painting, only needing to add finishing touches before she was ready to hand it in.

Hearing the slam of the classroom door, Isabella flinched and shifted her petite body to turn and look up at the tall blonde boy with blue eyes that had just walked into the empty classroom and was walking towards her with a scowl on his face. He was the school bully, but was also another student in her art class. She knew him from class but had never had a conversation with him. Being a quiet student, Isabella had never been in the way of the school bully and had never had a bad encounter with him. As he arrived at the easel where Isabella had been painting he grabbed a paintbrush with an angry look on his face. Dipping the paintbrush into the black pot of paint, and before Isabella had the chance to register what he was about to do, Trevor splattered the thick black substance all over the artwork that Isabella had just spent the past week working on. Without feeling her eyes well up, Isabella started to sob, in complete shock of the work that she had spent all week working on, as well as at the fact that this painting created a connection between herself and the woman she never had the chance to call mum.

Turning to the boy who stood in front of her with a red face, Isabella slapped him before she realised what she was doing. She pushed him away from her causing him to bump into the easel that was behind him, which happened to belong to him. Hearing the canvas fall to the floor with a clatter, Isabella saw red all over. She saw the end of a gun and a bullet half way to reaching an older woman. The painting had a red background and it was obvious to Isabella that this wasn't a made-up image, it was a memory that belonged to Trevor Jones, the school bully.

With a tear stained face, Isabella walked to the painting behind Trevor and picked it up, analysing it with her bold brown eyes. Turning to him she simply asked him 'Is this your mother?' with a voice so soft she thought he didn't hear it. Receiving a nod in return, Isabella started to connect the pieces that had built up the rage and anger inside of the school bully. His mother was murdered and there was nothing he could do about it. As she put the painting down she walked over to Trevor and gave him a heart-warming hug, then whispered in his ears 'I never met my mother,' she said with a sniffle 'she died when I was born,' hearing her voice crack she finished the sentence before she had the chance to cry 'I never met her, but I don't let the anger consume me so much that I'd ever feel the need to ruin anyone else's life' she said as she pulled away from the friendly hug. Isabella knew that once in a while, a person with suffering only needed to receive a hug, it was something that calmed her nerves, so she thought it was something that would help Trevor as well.

Moving towards her painting and picking it up, she realised that although there was a black like of paint across her painting, she knew she could salvage the painting. Feeling Trevor's stunned eyes on her she ignored him and continued placing the painting back on the easel, moving only to pick up a clean paintbrush and started turning the black line into a tree which had blooming flowers growing off them. The painting which had once been about a mother and a child had turned into a painting which had two beginnings of life. They both had their own meanings, but somehow made sense as they completed her painting.