Sketch

Sketch (part 1)

              The day was wrapping up for me; I've been recently trying to go to sleep at 1:00 AM which allowed for me to finally get my sleep schedule back into a regular 'healthy'  pattern. Like any other outcast 13 year old with insomnia going through hormonal imbalances, I stayed up through all the summer nights and days, drawing my emotions out on the pages in front of me. There is many techniques I've tried but drawing has always been my best form of letting my emotions and thoughts run free across my page; feeling free to mark up any left over space in my mind. While I'm drawing I can always let myself go and just forget about the world and myself for a while. As I picture new ideas and situations in my mind, they convert into complex drawings. But when something doesn't turn out exactly how I envisioned it, It's best to let me grieve my horrible mistake than to tell me it was actually good and that It wasn't a big deal. It happens all the time. Sometimes, as I crumble up the paper and throw it in the corner or in the trash, I feel almost bad for the drawing. I could've fixed it but I chose not to and decided to give up on it and start from scratch. The only light in my room came from my blue rocket ship lava lamp I got from by cousin Trinity, who lives next door, two Birthdays ago. With only this tinted light giving off a melancholy feel, I could still easily find my way around the white page with ease. I was used to drawing in the dark to soothe my thoughts before I go to bed; which could explain why I stay up so late. I was almost finished with my last drawing for the night which would compose all that I had felt throughout the last few days. Anger, sadness, jealousy, happiness, and disgust were all greatly represented in this masterpiece I had created. I lined the drawing in my favorite ball-tip pen I use with everything from school essays to my most complex art. Coloring in all the fine details carefully, I started to drift off. My hand slipped and the marker in my hand reached the other side of the paper. I quickly reacted and jumped up to turn on the light. When I was walking back to sit down in front of my now spoiled  canvas, I noticed not only did I completely miss the target, but the pen was not black, It was blue. I must have picked up the wrong maker by mistake, the tint from my blue rocket-ship lava lamp must've made everything already blue look darker. That probably isn't necessarily a bad thing to you, except the fact that I was planning on coloring the background that same blue. I'm going to be honest, it was disappointing. So as I took one more look at the drawing that could have been so exceptional with a little more effort, I said good bye. Good bye to the lines that penetrated deep into the flimsy, innocent paper piece. I balled it up tight in my fist and- what was that? I think I heard a tiny squeak coming from in my hand. Maybe I had crushed up a fly with it. I didn't think much of the odd experience. I threw the paper into the trash, perfectly aligning the measurements so it would hit the back side of the rim and slowly fall into the trash that was full of other drawings I gave up on in the past month. A half drawn dinosaur that I gave up on way too soon, a little girl in a blue dress crying at the moon with one eye slightly bigger than the other, an octopus that was the wrong shade of purple in the beak area, and 7 or 8 attempts at celebrities I admire but just couldn't get it right. I decided I was done for the night and it was time to get some rest. But my mind started to race with the possibility of different impossible things. Like what if pigs could grow wings and fly... what if cows could jump high enough to go over the moon... what if our drawings could talk? and what would they say? All well... that's enough thinking for now. That's what I always say before I force myself to shut off and sleep. 

          The next morning I woke up and went over to my computer to turn off the alarm I had set for 12:00 PM. Something felt a little different today when I stood up. I felt numb and like I was walking on clouds. I went into the kitchen, feeling almost confused and light-headed, and grabbed some apple slices and a caramel dip that comes in a pack of 6. I could've swore there was only 3 left yesterday but for some reason, there was all 6. Walking back to my room, I saw my trash can rolling slowly on the ground with my forgotten drawings unraveling themselves. My mouth dropped to the floor. I couldn't of been seeing what I thought I did. I closed the door, not daring to go back inside. I ran out the house with a tight grasp on my apples and caramel. My shoulder-length hair was blowing in my face yet it wasn't bothering me much. My mind what set on one thing, figuring out what the heck I had just witnessed. I walked over to Trinity's house with a purpose. Knocking on the door and ringing the door bell a few times to make her rush. Finally after 15 seconds, she opened the door with a concerned look on her face. 

        "What's up Sammie?" She said in a very solicitous tone. 

        "Tr-T-Trin- I just- I don't know whats going on, I-I think I'm seeing things!" I replied; every word jumbling up with the next.

        "Whoa crocodile, what happened?" 

        "My drawings, they- they," suddenly I looked down as I was choosing how to word my sentence and another very odd thing happened. 

          My apples and caramel were gone. I looked over on the grass I had walked over on and didn't see a thing out of place. My emotions changed from confusion to anger. What was going on? I grabbed Trinity's arm and stomped over across the yard to the front of my house. I looked at her and thought of what to say but nothing came to mind. I looked back to the door, let go of my firm grasp on her arm, and opened it. I walked in and even though I didn't see her face, I knew the exact perplexed expression she was making. A smirk appeared on my face as I opened the door and saw these small, 2 dimensional, unsightly beings invading my room; pulling themselves off the paper that I had thought they were eternally attached to. I turned to Trinity, a sigh of relief which left a smile of confidence resting on my face. I didn't take two seconds to look at them and let the matter marinate in my mind. How crazy, and scary,  is that? 

            "w-whoa," Trinity sighed. "Sammie, I never thought this could be what you were talking about." 

           "I know right!" I said, relieved that I wasn't seeing things that weren't there. 

           "Wha- who- how- what!" She couldn't organize a complete sentence. 

           "I... don't.. know." I said looking back. 

            I looked back into my room at my drawings that were walking around on the floor and swinging on the clothes in my closet. It looked like the portraits were flying in mid-air and they could talk; and blink. All my failed attempts of eyes, noses, cats, bears, bottles, cans, butterflies, and lizards. All my half drawn faces I gave up on, and all the doodles of little pandas and flowers. They were alive. And doing exactly what you could picture little mischievous drawings in the real world doing. And when they grasped something, it would turn into a drawing. Slowly I watched my room turn to a sketch; a blue-print if you will. I watched with a blank stare as my walls turned into a white page. A small boy that had a very high resemblance to Flat Stanley was walking my way. I stumbled backwards, trying with everything I could get get away from him, and I took notice of the ground underneath him turning to paper with every step he took. I tripped over a few erasers I doubt were there when I walked in. I twisted around to see that Trinity was not there anymore and  a sense of complete horror washed over me. If you watched the situation in a movie or show you'd probably laugh at the sight of thousands of small two dimensional creatures turning my life into one that looked like theirs. But to me, this was insane! No, it was terrifying. Yes, terrifyingly insane. I closed my eyes and started to plead to be left alone and not touched. My eyes watered and I started to shake. I waited for a firm grasp on any limb but a few seconds went by; a few too many. The little cartoon boy should've touched me by now... I should be paper by now. I opened my eyes and everything around me looked the same. I turned my head to the side and watched as my whole home and life was turning into this impossible world. But I couldn't find where that little boy went, until something got my attention and I gasped in shock as I saw the boy standing next to me; looking up at me.  

     He just stood there; silent. For what seemed like minutes, he made no movement.  And we just froze in place, looking at each other. I opened my mouth to speak but didn't think of what to say so no words came out. All of a sudden, his flimsy arm raised next to my knee. I hoped that he wouldn't do what I think he was going to do. So I didn't move my gaze off him and I hoped it would be like Doctor Who's Weeping Angels; If I just kept staring, he wouldn't move. But at last, that's not how it worked. His small hands quickly poked my knee and I held my breath. At first nothing happened, I was hoping I wasn't going to turn into paper like him; and I believed I was okay. I exhaled deeply and started to breathe again in relieve. Just as I was going to stand up, I started to feel a different way. I started to feel almost empty and plain. I looked down and stared at my legs. I saw them slowly morph into a very thin piece of construction paper and lose color. I didn't move, speak, or even blink; I couldn't.