(Untitled Story)

Chapter 1 *Hannah*

I dipped my brush back into the sea green paint and looked over my canvas to the life sized ocean in front of me.  For some reason my painting looked like a child's doodle compared to the beauty for me.

    As I moved away from the easel I had placed on my balcony, facing the west of course, my phone buzzed on the wooden railing.

    At a glance, I saw my best friend Marcy, smiling up at me.  She was probably calling to apologize.  I pressed ignore and pushed the phone into the back pocket of my jeans.  If she was going to apologize she had to do it in person.

    I walked through the open French doors into my room.

    My walls are a sky blue, but you can't really tell with all the paintings covering them.  Most of them were landscapes and buildings, but there were a few that were portraits of family and close friends.

    There was a blank spot over my dresser where one of my paintings were missing.  It was laying face down on my floor by the trash can.

    I picked it up slowly.  Marcy's eyes twinkled at me.  I had always thought her portrait had been my favorite and best painting.  The way the light caught the greens in her eyes, making them look almost real.  I had even gotten the fly away hairs in there.  To me, this painting had me realize how real she was to me.

    I hung the painting back up and stepped back a few feet to admire it.

    "I see you are starting to forgive," a warm voice behind me announced.

    I turned to see Mom sitting on my bed, she was holding one of my blue patchwork pillows in her arms.

    She didn't know why I was mad at Marcy, but she knew I didn't want to talk about it.  She understood things like that.

    She was still wearing her church clothes, earrings, and her favorite hair clip from her wedding.

    "I don't know why, I still can't believe she said what she did."  I took my phone out of my pocket and set it on my dresser.

    I know I am a lot of things, but the way Marcy said it, just made it worse.

    Mom looked down at the pillow without responding.  She never use to be this quiet.  She use to be fun and outspoken, but that was before a year ago.  Now she was reserved and, well, quiet.  For my dad, she was an ideal preacher's wife.

    "How was church," I ventured, sitting down at my white wooden desk.  I wasn't allowed to go to church today because I was still grounded.  Which I had been my whole remaining week of spring break.  Which means back to school tomorrow.  Insert tears here.

    Mom nodded, "Good.  I missed you though."

    I resisted the temptation too gag.  Mom always missed me.  I guess that's what happens when you only have one kid left.

    "So,"  I began casually, "What did Dad talk about today?"

    She smiled faintly. "Revenge and Forgiveness."

    Of course.

    I shook my head defeated, and stood up.

    "Hannah.  Wait."  Mom stood up.  "Whatever she did," she paused, "she's your best friend, Hannah.  Go talk to her."  I watched with disbelief as she handed me her car keys; mine still probably in Dad's care.

    I looked at her, and then at my phone.  Marcy was calling again.

    I pushed answer. "Hannah?  Hannah, oh my god!  I am so sorry!  Please, I can explain!  I-."