Ash Mitchell is a 17 year old GIRL who deals with many mental health issues. With her mother taken away from her at a young age she went into a dark state. Not wanting to deal with her bullshit, her father sent her away to an academy on the other si...
Song: Everybody Hates Me Artist: The Japanese House
Ash's POV:
I woke up to the sound of my alarm. I took off the covers and immediately put them back on. Fuck! I prepared myself for the coldness and took off the covers. I made my way to the thermostat to heat up my room a little. Once I did that I walked over to the restroom.
I turned on the water and waited for the water to heat up. I took my morning poo and once I was done with my business I got in the shower. After a good fifteen minutes I got out and wrapped a towel around my body. I walked out the restroom and into my closet. I looked through my clothes and picked this outfit:
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I put on a pair of all black hightop classic vans to match the fit. Once I did that I went to the restroom and brushed my teeth. I put my hair in a messy bun and pulled a few hairs out.
Once I was done with my hygiene, I walked out the restroom to get my stuff. I grabbed my phone and my keys and headed out the door.
****
"Those seem like good colors. But maybe you should try adding warm colors. Maybe some reds or yellows," I said. Roman looked up at his painting and nodded.
"That could work," he said.
"What do you think of orange?" He asked.
"Beautiful," I smiled.
He nodded and wrote down the colors. Once he decided on the colors, we rested our backs against the wall and looked at his unfinished painting.
"Why did you ask me to help you?" I asked.
"I'm not sure. I guess I just saw it black and white but something in me wanted to add color to it. I just couldn't decide which ones," he said.
"But....I never use color."
"You did once," he said in almost a whisper.
I looked down at my hands and frowned. Memories of my mom started to pop in my head.
"Why'd you stop?" He asked. I looked up at him and frowned.
"I couldn't see it anymore. I didn't feel it."
He looked down at me and frowned. He then looked at his painting.
"The same way I don't see color with my painting?" He asked. I shook my head.
"No, this is different. You still feel the need to add color to this painting. With my paintings....I don't."
He nodded and frowned. We sat there quietly for a good three minutes.
"Do you miss it?" He asked.
"I miss the reason why I painted with color. Not the actual colors," I frowned.
