Insomnia

Chapter 1

I hummed a joyful tune as I glided my pen across my canvas. The sun was finally hitting the sheet perfectly. The sun's rays warmed my hand as I contemplated what to draw next.

I could hear Grandmother jostling around in the house, the sound distracted me, but I didn't move. Instead, I let her noise inspire me. I drew my lines darker, concentrating harder. It was a waste of time before a loud rip sounded through the forest.

I threw the now crumbled ball of paper onto the forest floor like I had done the others. Grandmother must have heard me, as she stuck her head out the window to peak at me. She examined the crumbled balls on the ground and shook her head at me.

"A waste of my money if you ask me," she grumbled. She didn't like that I spent more time drawing than doing things to help her around the house.

"Well it's a good thing I didn't," I retorted under my breath. I didn't bother to look up at her, knowing she would be glowering at me.

"Why don't you do something useful and help me clean."

"Help you clean for what?" I threw my hands up dramatically. "No one ever comes out here!"

"It's better than you sitting out here wasting valuable paper." She fussed. She walked away, leaving me to my peaceful state again.

She was a crazy old woman, constantly cleaning the house when no one but us would ever see it. I think she just does it to keep busy, seeing as there wasn't anything else to do out here.

Grandmother told me lots of stories about what the world outside the woods was like. That's what I spent most of my time trying to draw. No matter how I imagined it, it wasn't an image I would get down on paper.

Grandmother had described it as wicked, similar to one of the tales in my books. Where everyone was evil in their own way. She told me she brought me out into the forest so I would be corrupted like the rest of the world was.

At this point, I'd take a corrupted world over anything else she could offer me. When I dream of a world outside of my own, I dream of joy. I think of other people my age, happy. I dream of adventure, myself exploring all the possibilities the world had out there for me. I dream of freedom, a world unseen, that I could get down on paper and never let go of.

I glared at the sky. It was so blue and beautiful, my face relaxed. I wonder if anybody else was out there, appreciating the beauty of the sky like I did.

My eyes were the same color of the sky. Grandmother told me that when I was young, I used to stare at the sky so much that I absorbed the color into my own eyes. I had believed that story so much, that I would go outside and stare at nature all day, hoping my eyes would change to the color of the graceful butterflies I saw, or the brilliant tulips I admire. It was why I saw things in nature that I don't think other people do, at least that Grandmother didn't. She eventually told me it was a lie because she didn't want me to go crazy. I grew to hate lies.

Nevertheless, I still loved nature. A natural beauty no one could ruin for me, because no one was every around.

I started humming another tune as I got out a fresh sheet of paper. An empty canvas, waiting for me to create an unseen world.

As I did so, I started to notice the birds copying my tune. I stopped, and listened. The birds had gotten the tune down, and repeated it over and over. I laughed a hummed along. The birds gradually eased their way closer to me until I could see gray all around me. I lowered my voice, so the birds wouldn't scare away. I slowly lifted the pen back onto the paper and made a ragged line. My eyes focused on one of the birds.

My breathing got uneven as I tried not to breath so hard. I couldn't draw fast enough to the pace of the bird's movement. It constantly hopped around, tweeting the tune I was humming earlier. I drew faster and faster, trying to finally have something good come out of all the failures I've created today.