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Hi, my name is Jackson
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 | Blackened Eyes and Phony Smiles [02] |
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 5 with 3 vote(s)
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| Created: 2009-09-29 04:09:32 |
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- Just so you know, every snippet of song in each part is taken from one of the songs by Puddle of Mudd. I was listening to my PoD collection, and well, let's just say the songs fitted best with the parts. In my opinion.
- Jackson Tate, his view.
“I'm not the one that's so far away.”
Art. It was the only class I'd never really considered since grade seven, when I'd last had it. Three years ago. It seemed like such a long time, looking back, but even the joy of touching pencil to paper couldn't be diminished despite even that long. I hadn't realised, however, that I'd be sharing Adelaide's class. I wasn't really that good at art. Not the kind of art that was done in a classroom, during a set lesson, anyway. I could turn anything I wanted into an anime-themed product, and I was relatively good with paints, of any kind. I favoured cheap paints. The kind that came in children's craft kits, with horrible little brushes with plastic bristles that you dipped in water, ran over the circle of paint, and touched to paper. But I had decided that, for the blank, I'd take up art. I couldn't get any better if I wasn't willing to learn.
“So,” Adelaide looked at me for a moment, her eyes shining with questions, but she said nothing. I glanced down at my art book, the large and tatty sketchbook I'd brought from home. It was almost full, with only a handful of pages left, but I wasn't yet ready to buy a new one. Each page, so far, had been used. Both sides. I wasn't one to waste paper. Not when I wasn't going to frame any pieces anyway. And at home, there was no point in having anything made of glass, or breakable in any way. It would, and considerably quickly, be broken upon being noticed. “You like art?”
“Not some of the stuff in the musems, if that's what you're talking about. I don't go much of random shapes that you can make on Paint, on a computer, or random splashes. That's not art. That's something a toddler could do.” I shrugged. “I like proper stuff. Old fashioned stuff. Although, I don't like the Mona Lisa. She's too, uh, I don't know.” I flushed, looking once more away from Adelaide's penetrating, nerve-wracking gaze. Anywhere would be better than those eyes. “I don't really know any famous painters and stuff, but I like a lot of anime.”
“I don't know many artists, either. And the ones I've heard of are starred in my thrillers, and all happen to be abstract painters, so I don't even consider looking at their work. I hate abstract. It's a waste of time, if you ask me. But all that same, I'm not really one for superrealism. Why not just take a photograph?” Adelaide sighed thoughtfully, the end of her pencil pressed softly against her lips, causing a faint indent. “I like drawing. I love pastels. Soft pastels. They're my preferred medium. I like scenery most. Animals second. People last.”
xxxx
No one was home when I got back from school. For that, I was intensely grateful. Dustin, my five-year-old brother, was still next door, at Mrs. Coon's place. She watched him until Dad or I were home, and sometimes even later. I wasn't sure how much she knew, and I wasn't sure I was even comfortable with her knowing anything, but I was glad she kept Dustin away from home as often as possible. I stopped first at my bedroom, dumping my bag beneath my bed before I headed back toward the living room. Dad would be home soon, and maybe Dustin. For now, I would enjoy the silence of the house. It wasn't often silent.
I could still picture Adelaide's face. Her infectious smile. The way her eyes crinkled when she laughed. It was a pleasing image, the kind I'd willingly dwell in forever more, but I didn't really want to associate her with home. She didn't belong her. She didn't belong anywhere that wasn't at school. At least, not in my world she didn't. I switched on the heater, relishing the warmth as it blew across my sneakers, warming them slowly, before I turned and crossed to the sink. There was a few paper plates to toss out from last night. Bits of meat-lovers pizza still clung to them, staining the perfect white of mine and marking Spiderman's face on Dustin's. I tossed eyed them wearily, as if they might bite, before I dumped them in the bin and rinsed out a plastic cup. It was Dustin's, of course. Most of the plastic cups were. They survived longest, after all.
Turning on my heel, I trekked back to my room, shutting the door and propping a chair beneath it. I dropped onto my bed, retrieving my bag from beneath. After sorting through the various bits of junk inside, I withdrew my sketchbook and a pencil case. I flipped to one of the last clean pages and began to draw. As I worked, I noticed the resemeblence to Adelaide's face, even as an anime character, and couldn't fight the wince. It seemed, however slowly, that she was seeping into everything in my world. First, it had been school. Every single class with her. Now, she'd taken over my mind. Next, it would be every piece of work I produced. From there, I could only guess at what would follow.
And I hated it. I hated that anyone could leave me feeling so helpless. Only one man had ever made me feel like this, and I didn't want to feel similiarly helpless when facing Adelaide. She wasn't like him, and yet, she left me feeling just as small, just as weak and helpless. I was utterly defenseless. It was bound to drive me insane, I was sure of it. |
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