I grabbed my suitcase and ran. I was finally thankful for all the running that our P.E. teachers made us do. I stopped to take a break at a park around 10 miles from my house.
When I continued, I took a route that was foreign to me. I entered a forest. It didn't look too dangerous, so I decided to risk it. But just in case, I didn't go deep inside, but slowly jogged around the inside of the perimeter.
Soon, I saw someone. I thought that I was imagining it, but then knew that I wasn't. I couldn't see her face, but I felt as if I remembered her from somewhere. It was a young lady, fair skinned and beautiful, elegant and graceful. She looked like a model who had come straight off the runway. I decided to approach her. I was intrigued by her beauty and grace, and curious about why she would be in the forest. I was also hoping to get a look at her face.
As soon as I took the first step in her direction, something happened. I heard a long string of strange, musical words, and then found myself airborne. I was twirling through the air, not gracefully, but with a speed that stopped your heart. I wasn't too sure when or where I landed, but as soon as I could think straight again, I couldn't believe what I saw.
It was a familiar village, with the most stunning castle resting on a hill nearby. It was from my worst but greatest dreams. I was trapped in the painting that my mother painted for me. It was amazing because it was gorgeous, but terrifying when I remembered who had painted it, and where that artist is at present.
YOU ARE READING
In The Painting
FantasyStanding at the grave of Elizabeth Combs, with tears silently flowing down my cheeks. I, Isabella Combs, standing here, on my own, dreading death and feeling angry for the dead. My mother, gone, never to see her dazzling smile and caring eyes again...
