The bad part about the underground?
No rain.
Which makes me wonder what's in the puddles down here...
Wait, no. I don't want to know.
"Elodie!" Corey called, waving from the elevator.
"Corey! You came!" I exclaimed. He looked sheepish.
"Why wouldn't I?"
"Because you probably have better things to do that to chat with some random homeless girl. You've got to have friends or something."
"But you're my friend, Elodie."
Ouch, my feels. What you just heard? The sound of my heart breaking. "Don't you dare play the feeling game with me, Corey."
"It's the truth, though. I don't really have any friends other than you and my grandma. But she tells me that I'm not her friend."
"Corey, stop making me feel bad for you."
"So what's up in the world of Elodie?"
"Graffiti. I like art. When I combine it with words, it makes masterpieces," I said, daydreaming about my next mural. Maybe I'd do it on the side of the one nightclub down here. Angry Loth Cats, angry Porgs, angry colors, and angry words.
"Isn't that vandalism?"
"No, it's art. You should try it sometime."
"That's... I can't do art."
"Anyone can do art!" I told him, grabbing his hand and dragging him into an abandoned building. I handed Corey a bottle of spray paint. I'd stolen it on our last supply run. Imagine what Mom would say to me if she knew. I took a spray bottle of my own and sprayed the word ART on the wall. I traced it with blue, then green, then borrowed the yellow from Corey, then orange, and finally red. I added stars and streaks and squiggles, gemstones and smiley faces. Corey was busy spraying the wall a variety of colors.
"Do you have any paint-paint?" he asked. He looked angry. I remembered what Sunder had said about art relieving anger. I went upstairs and brought down some cans of paint. Corey took handfuls and hurled them at the wall. I watched, marveling at the way the paint splattered against the wall. White, blue, yellow, and pink. Splat, splat, splat. I went back to my own wall, spraying the Mandalorian symbol onto it.
"Do you know if any of your parents were artistic?" Corey asked, stopping his rage of paint and walking over to me. I put down my can of spray paint.
"They weren't," I whispered, dropping the can and looking at my hands. I turned them over, examining them. If my parents weren't artistic, then why am I?
"They didn't... oh, right. You don't have parents. Sorry," Corey apologized hurriedly.
"I do, they're just... they didn't... I couldn't be theirs," I said, struggling for the right words to describe it. They didn't want me. I wasn't supposed to happen. I suddenly got angry.
"Can I add some to your angry mural?" I asked, fists clenched. My nails bit into my skin.
"Yeah, sure." Corey said with a shrug. I picked up a glob of paint in my hand and threw it at the wall with an angry scream.
"Why did you have me?" I screamed, throwing more paint. "Why did you just throw me away?"
I hurled paint at the wall, anger coursing through my veins. Then I stopped. If my parents didn't want me, what did that make me? I turned to my own mural. I picked up globs of black paint. Then I hurled them at the Mandalorian symbol.
"I hate you!" I screamed, crying.
"Yes! Let your anger out!" Corey encouraged. I ignored him and hurled more paint at the symbol until it was completely covered up. Then my eyes fell on the word I ruined. Black splotches covered my ART. I looked at it and gasped, hands shaking. What have I done? In my rage, I destroyed something beautiful.
"Um, Elodie?"
"Corey, I'm a monster," I realized, looking at my black paint-coated hands.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean I destroy. I just destroyed a beautiful mural because I was raging. I... I..." I closed my eyes, ashamed of myself.
"The funny thing about art is that you can redo it. Or make it better." Corey said, tapping my shoulder. I opened my eyes. He offered me a spray paint can. I wiped my eyes on my arm and took it.
"I have an idea," I thought aloud.
"Me too."
"Let's not tell each other until we're done."
"Deal."
We painted for the rest of the evening, but our murals weren't finished. Some of the best works of art take time.
And mine will be a masterpiece.
A masterpiece that only I could create.
YOU ARE READING
The Mandalorian Chronicles
Fanfiction*CURRENTLY BEING EDITED* Elodie Kryze is an outcast. She would be even more so if the other kids knew her parentage. She can't wait for her real parents to rescue her, but for now she's trapped with her adopted family. When a huge field trip comes a...
