Aesthetic short stories

Magenta

A blank page sits on a desk. A small desk lamp illuminates the dark room, a girl is sat down in an old rickety chair. She stares at the paper before her, it's haunting white color glaring in her face.

Not a word or drawing, not even a mark from her pencil was on it. Just past scribbles erased and re did again only to be erased once more. 

She drilled her eye's onto that dumb paper. Couldn't think of anything good or creative to put on it. Every idea was done so poorly, nothing was satisfying her desires. 

Stupid.

This was all so stupid.

Why was her brain so blank? Where was the once flowing creativity? Did something build a damn in her head and stopped all the flowing importation? 

She scrunched her face in utter disapproval. A flame burning in her chest lit up like a wildfire. She slammed the pencil on the desk, gripping her hair like a mad man. 

The piece of paper just sat there, untouched and white. Past mistakes still engraved in it, because erasing it wasn't good enough to get rid of it. 

She felt her hands vibrate from anger, or maybe panic. She couldn't tell the difference, everything seemed so far away, reality was slipping from her grip. She felt like a character in a movie, being watched by hundreds of people.

The walls were melting, the moon outside in the midnight sky laughed at her feeble attempts to grasp onto something. Anything. This feeling was so strange.. 

"Stupid. Can't even write a simple sentence. So caught up in creating something that doesn't even exist. If you keep going like this, you'll fall."

Shaky hands tremble as the girl wipes her eye's. A magenta color stains her fingertips, it drips onto the white paper like honey. A single rose sprouts from the liquid.

The girl looks at it with awe. 

The flame in her chest flickers out, and all that was left was the bright red rose, with petals so vibrant.

She smiled.

And plucked the flower.