The Artist and the Journalist

Well, that was horrible

Dawn looked around her room, it was blank and lifeless, the cream white walls drained the imagination from her mind, the easel sat at the end of the room and the stool just half a metre away from it, the paints lay in the far left corner about two metres from the easel, she stared at the easel blankly, it's white surface serving no inspiration, her blood settled, she thought this place would be exciting filled with life, she hadn't expected the Agence France-Presse to be so blank, a city of love yet no love to a room of an artist in an important newsagency.

"Is something wrong", a voice queried from the door of the blank room. She turned her attention to the person at the door, it was a journalist from downstairs, or what Dawn labelled as 'the other boring part of this hell hole'.

"What's with the bland colours here", she huffed as she turned back to the paints in the corner. She blew the dust off the old chestnut coloured box, the hinges slightly rusted from all the years it was left unattended, she turned the chest over pouring all the paints out onto the floor, the bottom of the case showed an insignia of a gold rose. The gold rose represented her mother; Rose, her hair was sunshine yellow, her eyes an electric blue and her soft tan contrasting to her pearly white teeth, the day she had died, she was no different, she was eccentric and delighted to see Allison as she breathed her last and subsided into an unawakenable slumber, tears welled in her eyes as she thought of her recently passed mother, she was once the artist of the comics for the paper, she ran local art contests to test the children's' imagination with bizarre requests of the unimaginable to the children, great monsters and tales were told about through those colourful pictures, she remembered a young girl telling Dawn to draw something for her. Those were glorious times, but now she was alone with her two younger sisters and their flat near the Eiffel Tower. She heard distant snapping as she rubbed her cardigan against her eyes to remove the dastardly tears.

"Hello, you're the new artist for the comics, correct?", he spoke firmly, Dawn turned towards the idiot in the doorway. She gave him a 'duh' face and stuck her tongue out in his direction. "That's not very polite ma'am".

"I don't give two shits", Dawn hissed at him. He glared at her as she turned her back to him and continued looking around in the box at her hands. Dawn sighed and turned back to the man standing at the doorway. She opened her mouth to say something, but stumbled at her words as she saw the young man walk away.