Beaitiful Minds

Chapter 1: Dear Anne-Marie,

"I will dance a little.
I will move with the wind.I will give my body to my love and celebratethat we have substance beyond the idea of ourselves.We can move. We can touch. This is my physical exclamation point.This is how I can awaken my mind to the possibilities in the day." 
-Mary Anne Radmacher

"You can search throughout the entire universe for someone
who is more deserving of your
love and affection than you are yourself,
and that person is not to be found anywhere.
You yourself, as much as anybody in the entire universe
deserve your love and affection."
-The Budda

𝕁𝕒𝕟𝕦𝕒𝕣𝕪 𝟙𝟞, 𝟚𝟘𝕏𝕏

Anne Marie, living in such a fast vivid colorful world: all she could see was black and white. Why? She doesn't even know.

ALL OF IT WAS A BIG BLUR TO ME

It was like seeing a sudden flash of light burning through my damn eyeballs. With making matters worse I had the hugest fucking headache that morning.

"Goddamn it Jessica, why'd you have to open them damn blinds."

Jessica was a typical friend I made back when we went to the same private school. Maybe that was 3 Years ago. I cant recall, it must've been a long time ago. But shes been with me through thick and thin. At one point, I grew feelings for her. Although, that quickly went away once she introduced me to her new hippie boyfriend. Who's obessesed with K-pop and anime. I myself , love both of those things, but damn hes gone crazy with the shit. Typical. It shows how bad of taste she has in for a suitable partner.

"Because your lazy ass wouldnt get up and its already past noon."

"You sound like my mother." I replied back, smirking at the remark.

"You smell like my uncle joe."

Jessica's uncle, as her family referred to him as "Uncle Joe" mainly cause of his love for sloppy joe's. Which I find repulsive. He'd always smell like beer and weed everytime me and Jessica were in 5 feet of him. He's currently serving his time up in prison for : "Non-Delivery of merchandise' basically meaning that he gets payed to ship out the products, but he never ended up doing so, theres a surprise. No wonder why her family never mentions him anymore.

"Dont, compare me to your no good uncle." She looks down at me with a smrik, relentlessly me wanting to wipe off that smirk. God was it ugly.

"Whatever" she replied, as she walked out of the room.

I start my morning routine and head into the kitchen, seeing Roxy laying out on the dirty floor.

Roxy, is a two year old labradoodle. Jessica brought her home one night from the shelter w/o consulting me first, none the less i was happy that she picked up this ball of cuteness and fluff from the pound. I love Roxy so much. Sometimes more then Jessica I think..

I recall this one time where Jessica was riding her bike down the sidewalk with Roxy, long story short Jessica fell off the bike and injured herself laying out on the sidewalk calling out for help, while I took Roxy to the vet to make sure she wasnt hurt. It was a blessing she wasnt.

It just shows how much of an asshole I am. Just cut me some slack, Jessica being the drama queen she is ,had only a cut on her knee.

Fucking actresses. (no shade)

I notice Jessica fidgeting around the kitchen. As she usually does every morning.

I get bored and go back upstairs, noticing that distinct painting that hands above the vase. Its a peculiruar painting. I find it weird as well.

Just a random thought i'd say.

I suddenly get quick flasbacks of the past. Something i didnt want to view.

"Its a stupid career to pursue in."

"You know you arent gonna make money being a fucking artist, right?"

"Why even bother with it, what good does it do you?"

"No one is gonna take you serisouly Anne-Marie."

"Do what is essential for the world."

I shake my head a little to get the terrible flashback from out of my head. I glance over to the painting again, smiling at the thought of my dreams of becoming an artist as a child.

God was it my passion, I even remeber those times i begged my mother to take me to a nearby crafts store to buy art supplies, although i ended up losing those art supplies. As the pencils easily broke, earsers just ripping through my paper, and dont even get me started on the fucking times ive gotten so frustrated over a drawing.

I walk into my room and plop right back into bed. Slowly drifiting off to sleep. As i close my eyes i suddenly get a phone call.

"Unknown Number" Typical. Right?

Yet the voice was so familiar