When Water Turns To Ice | REWRITE AVAILABLE

o n e | The Dreamer and The Practical Ones

There's nothing better then the feeling of spreading paint across a canvas. I dipped my sponge into the paint. I loved using a sponge to create the amazing almost puckered affect on the paint that I really wanted to use on my cherry blossom tree.

Making sure it got enough of pink, red, and white paint I dabbed it onto the rich tree trunk I had painted in burnt umber yesterday.

Painting was how I let out my emotions, let my fears, thoughts, worries, angry tirades I felt towards my brother all push into one master piece. It was especially helpful when I didn't even know what I was feeling.

Today I knew exactly what emotion was going on inside my chest. It was this heavy raw feeling that pulled you down like you had cried for a million years and you would never be the same again.

I hadn't cried, not yet, but the bittersweet memories of my grandmother still rang true through my mind as I recalled skipping over to her house and exploring her amazing garden.

She would teach me how to meditate and do yoga while also making sure to do fun activated like chase Nana round and round the tree. She was the one that introduced me to painting. While my parents thought of it as a hobby she was the one that realized it was more than just a simple practice but a passion. Something that burned throughout my blood and flooded into me.

I've always been dramatic. As well as a dreamer. I got that from Nana as well. She was a writer and loved making up stories that would make your imagination go wild. Unfortunately my family was more practical like my Grandad.

"GWENDOLYN!" I pointedly ignored the annoying twerps bellow and continued making the beautiful blooms on my tree.

"GWENDOLYN!" Good gracious, you'd think he had the lungs of an elephant.

"GWENDOLYN!" Suddenly something flicked my hard in the ear, I dropped my sponge and promptly tacked my brother.

Riley scowled under my hold, probably regretting teaching me that move. My older brother had claimed it was in case some kids jumped me. Then he hurriedly covered it by saying that he only cared because he still wanted to know where his baseball trophy was and I couldn't tell him if I was dead.

I still haven't told him. If you're wondering I had stashed it under my mother's underwear. I wonder why she hasn't found it yet but whatever.

"Let me up." Riley whined. He was two years older then me, making him an obnoxious twenty year old.

I got off of him brushing my hair out of my face. It was this brown colour, the shade of almonds but with a little bit of sun I had given myself lighter almost blonde highlights in it.

Riley glared at me, shoving me as he got up making me stumble.

"Dad wants you in the shop." I stifled a groan, only nodding tensely. I should probably change. Dad hated when I brought paint into the shop.

Changing from my oversized collared button down I took my hair from its messy bun and brushed it quickly out before swiftly braiding it down my shoulder. I changed into some fresh ripped jeans, a yellow tank, and threw on my white denim jacket. Slipping my shoes into my sandals I ran down the sidewalk to my bike and rode to the shop.

I lived in a small town in Ninjago. It was super small and pretty much everyone knew each other. Waving with a smile at Mrs. Luth, a kind old lady I rode into the bike rack and dashed inside.

My father owned a car repair shop and worked as a mechanic to fix up everyone's automobiles. And he expected my brother and I to follow in his footsteps. And if not become an engineer. And if not an engineer then it better be something like a doctor.

"Gwen!" Dad grinned and welcomed me inside. "Mr. Feldman's car engine is sputtering again, can you lend a hand?"

I nodded and put on my overalls. When he went to hand me a tool he frowned at the paint on my hand.

Crud.

He inspected the paint stains and glanced up at me, face stern.

"Gwendolyn...." Oh he used my whole name, I'm in trouble.

He sighed. "You know I don't want you painting so much." He used that disappointed voice that tears at your insides. "It distracts you whine you could be working on your marks or fixing a car!"

Dad motioned with his wrench at the hood. "Come on, we'll talk later." Giving me the tool he marched back to the car and buried himself into its metal.

I sighed. Looking down at the wrench before following in suit.

A/N****

I know! I have an obsession with giving characters parent problems! But it makes them all the more reasonable! Giving a character something that they are personally overcoming is something I always loved to read about and it helps me create the character when I write about this stuff too!

LuckyBugBooks 🐞