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Want to try to make one or see what other people came up with?! Every story will participate in The Doll Palace ratings. Good stories will be awarded with Dollpoints.
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All created stories have to follow . We do not allow any sexually related material. The Doll Palace will be enforcing this rule and completely blocking access to the accounts that disregard our policy and create sexually oriented stories.
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Hi, my name is Roxana
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 | Toni's Contest : Painted in Color. |
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 4.83 with 6 vote(s)
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| Created: 2009-02-24 17:45:44 |
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Okay, so heres my one-shot entry for Toni's contest. The idea is you take the charries from another person's story [with their permission, of course[ and write a different story off of it. I chose "Colors of the Heart" by PinkRoseTears. The link is below, and I highly reccomend it.
http://www.thedollpalace.com/story/Colors-of-the-Heart-ALL-REVISED-story-dpstr236295-sePinkRo seTears-ty1-as1.html
I chose the charactars Sam and Rose. This is about four years after PinkRoseHeart's story ends.
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Overlooking a city street, a nineteen-year old girl sits in the window of a four story loft, behind an easle. Her slim frame is perched on the edge of a huge comfy-looking chair. Her auburn hair is pulled back, as if to keep it out of her face, but most of it has slipped from the elastic, falling to frame her face in orangey tendrils. She's concentrating on her painting, her college professor has already given her an extension on it. But because of this she knows she cannot dissapoint, she must produce something truley wonderful. This stress has her biting her lip furiously, scrutinizing her work with a small frown.
Behind her, the door creaks open. Another person quietly slips inside, so he doesn't disturb her. Noticing her cup of tea on the table next to her, he smiles and puts on water to make her a new one. He knows her well enough that he can be sure that she got caught up in her work, and the tea is most certainly cold. He shuffles about the kitchen, while humming quietly. He then leans on the counter, and studies his love with piercing saphire eyes. His dark hair, which he has grown out over tha past few years, falls in his eyes, and he swings it out of the way. His full lips pull into a smile as he sees her work.
Soon enough the kettle goes off, signifying that his tea is ready. He pulls out two new mugs, and fills them with the hot liquid. Sipping out of one, he carefully manuvers over to her. Just as she reaches for the cold mug of tea, he hands her the new one. It's the first time shes even noticed he's there, and she smiles up at him.
"Sam," she whispers, her face glowing.
"You've got paint on your nose," he mumbles, licking his thumb and wiping it off.
Rose pretends to grimace, while at the same time laughing. She can't pull it off. Same pulls her into a hug, and she leans into his chest, relishing the closeness with him, the warmth of his body. He sits her back into the chair, but this time so that she is leaning comfortable against the back, relaxed. He begins to rub her shoulders lovingly, gently. A moan escapes Roses lips, and she lets her eyes fall shut.
"Your shoulders are a mess of stress knots, babe," Sam says.
"Yes, yes, I know. But I've got so much to do..this painting, a collage.." Rose trails off, sighing.
"You'll make it...I know you will. You need to be an artist, Rose, I've never seen someone love something so much, and have talent for it."
Rose smiles again. She tips her head back far enough for Sam to give her an up-side-down kiss. His lips meet hers, and a warmth spreads over her body. The same warmth that Sam's kisses gave her when they were fifteen, and the same warmth that his kisses were sure to give him when she was eighty. Love. Even thinking the word sent a thrill through Rose's mind. Being with Sam was like swimming in the ocean. The feeling of calm, constant water swirling around her, but enough waves to keep their fire alive, keep them interested.
And that fire was really kept Rose going through the day. Her classes were often long and tedious, pointless in her career path of becoming an artist. Knowing that she would come home to Sam was enough. Sometinmes an annoyed, tired Sam, but Sam all the same. Sam was studying to become an engineer. His affinity for math and machanics hadn'r really shown themselves until his junior year or highschoool, but now he was persuing a career in auto-mechanics.
Coming back to reality, Rose stands up and walks to the window, Sam at her side. He holds her hand and kisses her cheek sweetly. They look down on the city streets together, watching all the people rush by. Buisnessmen and women weilding their breif cases rush to catch their buses.
"Do you ever think that some people rush through life, Rose?" Same asks.
"I've never really thought about it, " Rose admits,"but I suppose some people do."
"Yea, take all of those people for example. They run through life trying to make more money, and forget whats important. They might have a wife and kids at home, but all they care about is the stocks," he says, "If I ever get that way, if I ever stop caring. Kiss me...kiss me and I'll remember.
"You know I will..I'm not giving you up," Rose repies with conviction.
Then Rose goes back to her painting, with new inspiration. She picks up her brush and puts all of her emotions on the canvas. Its as if everything that Rose has ever felt for Sam is flowing from her hand and heart to her hand and brush. By the time she is done, its the early hours of the morning, and she is exahausted both mentally and physically. She stumbled to bed, slipping out of her paint smock and into sweats and a baggy T-shirt. She slips into bed beside Sam, curling up against him. He had fallen asleep ages ago, but his arm subconsiously winds around her, and she falls asleep almost instantly.
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The next morning, Sam wakes before Rose. For a moment he gazes at her sleeping form, smiling softly. Her mouth is parted slightly, and sleep has wiped all traces of the stress from last night away. In it's place is a look of innocence, content. He gracefully stands, off to take a peak at her painting, that he knows that she had spent all hours of the night working on.
When he carefully removes the tarp, he gasps. Rose has always been a brilliant artist, but this is beyond anything Sam has ever seen. It is a painting of himself and Rose. Both of them are simply popping off of the canvas, so real you could almost reach out and touch them. They're laughing, and even in paint their love is almost papable. Tears come to Sam's eyes as he trys to blink them away. Rose wakes then, and pads over to Sam. She winds her arms around his waist and smiles, happy and proud of her work. Even she, her worst critic, must admit it is her best. It is of her most treasured posession, of Sam, and of their love.
Now, not only are their hearts in color, but their love is too. It is wonderful and beautiful, horrifying and terrible. Sweet and loving, passionate and violent. it is every feeling and emotion thrown into one burning desire, not a want but a need for that other person. And for Sam, it is Rose. And for Rose, it is Sam. Forever and always. |
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