(Spin-off of Imaginary, more so specifically it's second book, Severity)
Cleo Vexer, a problematic teenage girl, is the sensation of your average pessimist and mediocre criminal. Still having to survive the rest of her senior year bitter and lonely...
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Green clouds my vision as spray paint spews onto Oliver Walkley's bedroom wall.
I don't rush the art, I already had the pattern of how the night would fall before I even arrived at the Walkley residence.
Mr. and Mrs. Walkley will positively have a long and urgent surgery at the hospital to attend, their daughter Stephanie sleeps over with her best friend next door every Friday, and Oliver Walkley never stays home alone when he could be going to a party. Luckily, rumor said there was one a good drive away.
Even in the slight chance that he'd return home before the next morning, Oliver Walkley - drunk and walking in zigzags - wouldn't remember a thing by Saturday afternoon. Another reminder of his stupidity would be the wall.
I constantly switch out different cans of spray paint from my bag, all of which are different multitudes of green. The slight stench in the room left a vile scent in my nose, but I used the last bits of willpower in my body to commit to my artwork.
I adjust the matte black masquerade mask on my face, it being the only thing worthy I could find stashed into the corners of my car on short notice. It seemed a bit dramatic and ridiculous, but who knows if an insomniac neighbor deicides to look out their window, using their lack of sleep to their advantage by keeping an eye out for every ounce of gossip worthy sins on the lawn next store.
Thin strands of hair escape from my ponytail, it sticking to the edges of my face. I use what's left of my vision through the thick mask to finish every detail of the masterpiece stained on Oliver's wall.
I can envision Monday morning in the school hallways already. He shouldn't - but I know he will - expect to be entitled to every right for yelling at me for this green colored art on his bedroom wall. Not only could he surely afford the paint to cover it up, but he was the one who handed me a messy breakup and screwed me over repetitively when we were dating.
I was just giving him the karma he deserved.
If anything, he should be thanking me for the beauty I created.
With the last stroke of green paint, I grinned at my mural before shoving the spray paint cans into a duffel bag. Heading out through what was my original entrance - which was his bedroom window - I jumped from the window ledge to the conveniently positioned tree branch right beside the side of the house. It's like he wants me to break in. With a few extra steps, my feet landed on the green grass illuminated subtly by midnight's glow.
As I was started walking on the sidewalk to my car parked at the end of the road, I felt an eye on me. Daring to look, my stare met the boy's curious eyes from the window across from Oliver Walkley's. I had been caught not only from what I can assume was this stranger's insomnia, but also for the fact that Oliver Walkley didn't bother to buy some curtains.
May I say once more, it'slike he wants me to break in.
That boy could of seen me this entire time. And it would mark the first time I'd ever been caught red handed in a mediocre vengeance of green spray paint.
I watched his eyes from the distance just blankly cling onto me, waiting for what I'll do.
