So whilst looking through old things
I found a folder of a bunch of old story ideas from high school. I figured I'd share the one short story in the mix.
Keep in mind, I wrote this in high school and typing it exactly as I have written it (except for me fixing my spelling) So it'll probably read like a 15 year old girl wrote it, because a 15 year old girl did write it.
The Artist
She was an artist. Art was her life. She did everything she could to be a part of her art. She drew, wrote, painted, sewed, sculpted, acted, even building things was an art to her. Her favorite art was the art of her body. The Martial Arts. The art of using a weapon, either body or sword. She even wanted to do archery. The art of arrows she called it.
There was never a time you would look at her and not know how in depth her passion was. Whether it was herself covered in paint during school, her blue eyes alight with true pleasure, or a bag of ice on her hand, from when a hammer hit, her laughter ringing out at her carelessness. The cold, focused glare as she perused her Katas, the vigor of her stage performance, what looks to be thousands of pins in her mouth as she adjusted a dress. All of this was a common sight whenever you were near her. She was the true embodiment of art. The goddess of Art it seems. For only a true artist has so much passion, so much love for such a variety that far outweighs any inferior being.
But then it happened. One single act of human carelessness that changed it all. One simple candle, one clumsy act.
The residents of the small neighborhood watched in morbid fascination as the some what small house was engulfed in the bright orange flames. Paintings, sketches, rough drafts, scripts, beautiful masterpieces of art. Gone. Never again will the world see her art, so full of love and passion. It was a devastating lost, but unfortunately not the worst.
Everyone got out of the house okay. One father, one mother, two brothers and her.
Her father, severe burns on his arms from him fighting to sae his children.
Her mother, severe smoke inhalation and some burns.
Brothers, shaken, burned but still fine.
The gathered crowd watched in grief, sympathy and out right horror s she layed there, the paramedic wrapping gauze over her eyes.
Hot embers of a burning house. She was rushing out, grabbed a brother, hot embers fell hitting the face, blinding her forever.
It was weeks before she was released from the hospital. She was kept as her body adjusted to the new darkness that surrounded her.
The police cleared out the ashes that used to be a place of creativity and peace. It was in those moments, as they were searching through the devastation that was her life, a fire mutilated sword, charred costumes, thousands of drawings to a pile of ash, the sad remains of the goddess of art, that one could only be glad one such as her couldn't see. She couldn't see the ruin her life was in. The town hoped and prayed her darkness would be a comfort so she didn't have to see the cruelty of fate.
She came back to school for one day, to get all she had left in her locker. Her bright blue eyes were hidden behind dark glasses. Her mother leading the way. Leading the way for a girl who always knew where she wanted to go. What she wanted to do. Now she was lost in the darkness.
Her glasses were removed by a close friend. It was then, as they looked into her eyes that the lost was truly felt. Bright blue eyes that always shined, always so focused, expressing happiness, bitterness, laughter, sympathy, anything, were now unfocused and blank.
Her face around her eyes was scared, the scares more prominent now that the glasses were removed.
He close friends talked with her, listening with devastation as she calmly explained her family was moving away near a school for the blind.
In a cold, dead voice, void from any passion she once had, she explained that she would not be able to do her art. She couldn't see inspiration, she wasn't allowed to do martial arts any more. She would never get a chance to do her archery.
As she was leaving, someone wished her a nice life. To that she just said "Without Art, there is no life," and she just calmly walked away, out of the lives of the students.
The town lost their Goddess of Art, and every time someone passes the remains of the house, the beaten up mural she painted, pictures of her in her element, the lost is heavily felt.
I wrote this during my....err...either it was my Calculus class or my Chemistry class. I don't remember. Math and Science gives me inspiration. There are a lot of problems, but I still kinda like it.
Lemme know what you think. 15 year old me is open to critique.
Keep in mind, I wrote this in high school and typing it exactly as I have written it (except for me fixing my spelling) So it'll probably read like a 15 year old girl wrote it, because a 15 year old girl did write it.
The Artist
She was an artist. Art was her life. She did everything she could to be a part of her art. She drew, wrote, painted, sewed, sculpted, acted, even building things was an art to her. Her favorite art was the art of her body. The Martial Arts. The art of using a weapon, either body or sword. She even wanted to do archery. The art of arrows she called it.
There was never a time you would look at her and not know how in depth her passion was. Whether it was herself covered in paint during school, her blue eyes alight with true pleasure, or a bag of ice on her hand, from when a hammer hit, her laughter ringing out at her carelessness. The cold, focused glare as she perused her Katas, the vigor of her stage performance, what looks to be thousands of pins in her mouth as she adjusted a dress. All of this was a common sight whenever you were near her. She was the true embodiment of art. The goddess of Art it seems. For only a true artist has so much passion, so much love for such a variety that far outweighs any inferior being.
But then it happened. One single act of human carelessness that changed it all. One simple candle, one clumsy act.
The residents of the small neighborhood watched in morbid fascination as the some what small house was engulfed in the bright orange flames. Paintings, sketches, rough drafts, scripts, beautiful masterpieces of art. Gone. Never again will the world see her art, so full of love and passion. It was a devastating lost, but unfortunately not the worst.
Everyone got out of the house okay. One father, one mother, two brothers and her.
Her father, severe burns on his arms from him fighting to sae his children.
Her mother, severe smoke inhalation and some burns.
Brothers, shaken, burned but still fine.
The gathered crowd watched in grief, sympathy and out right horror s she layed there, the paramedic wrapping gauze over her eyes.
Hot embers of a burning house. She was rushing out, grabbed a brother, hot embers fell hitting the face, blinding her forever.
It was weeks before she was released from the hospital. She was kept as her body adjusted to the new darkness that surrounded her.
The police cleared out the ashes that used to be a place of creativity and peace. It was in those moments, as they were searching through the devastation that was her life, a fire mutilated sword, charred costumes, thousands of drawings to a pile of ash, the sad remains of the goddess of art, that one could only be glad one such as her couldn't see. She couldn't see the ruin her life was in. The town hoped and prayed her darkness would be a comfort so she didn't have to see the cruelty of fate.
She came back to school for one day, to get all she had left in her locker. Her bright blue eyes were hidden behind dark glasses. Her mother leading the way. Leading the way for a girl who always knew where she wanted to go. What she wanted to do. Now she was lost in the darkness.
Her glasses were removed by a close friend. It was then, as they looked into her eyes that the lost was truly felt. Bright blue eyes that always shined, always so focused, expressing happiness, bitterness, laughter, sympathy, anything, were now unfocused and blank.
Her face around her eyes was scared, the scares more prominent now that the glasses were removed.
He close friends talked with her, listening with devastation as she calmly explained her family was moving away near a school for the blind.
In a cold, dead voice, void from any passion she once had, she explained that she would not be able to do her art. She couldn't see inspiration, she wasn't allowed to do martial arts any more. She would never get a chance to do her archery.
As she was leaving, someone wished her a nice life. To that she just said "Without Art, there is no life," and she just calmly walked away, out of the lives of the students.
The town lost their Goddess of Art, and every time someone passes the remains of the house, the beaten up mural she painted, pictures of her in her element, the lost is heavily felt.
I wrote this during my....err...either it was my Calculus class or my Chemistry class. I don't remember. Math and Science gives me inspiration. There are a lot of problems, but I still kinda like it.
Lemme know what you think. 15 year old me is open to critique.