Requested By TiffanyLopez999
Being an artist was never easy.
You had to always practice, practice, practice. It literally killed your hand. Literally. It wasn't really the arts fault, you just had to get reference for a broken arm for a comic that you were making. You asked some friends to help you with this project, then they told you were insane and ran away screaming, so you had to do it yourself. Someone even told you to do it to your friends who told you no. But all you said was "Look buddy, I want to make it look natural. And a human breaking another human looks different from when gravity does the damage." Your science teacher should have told you that they look exactly the same. But no one knew what happened to them because they died of heart attack on their pinkie while trying to eat a plastic spork.
You went to the 3rd floor to eye a good look at everything. You start to think that maybe you should have pushed the spare human corpse that was inside your house for some reason. Police have been suspicious of you local area. But you just denied it. But should you use it?
Nah. This is fine. You glance down below. People look up the building and scream. They also began to take photos of what's happening. Some firefighters took a giant trampoline below you. The mayor somehow got involved and got a megaphone.
"(Y/N)! This isn't the answer! We can talk this out! Don't do this to yourself!"
The fastest 20 minuets of you life just passed and you're suddenly in a hospital. What you didn't know was that is was no ordinary hospital, but a mental rehabilitation. If it wasn't obvious enough, they sent you there after thinking you tried to commit suicide. Hopefully in no way sent there because of drugs. All you can do is pray that your cocaine collection will go undiscovered by your sibling. You saved so much for that.
Since the plan to make reference was literally thrown of the roof, and now that you arms are broken and you can't draw, you have to look at a place for inspiration.
The room was quiet and clean. It smelled like soap. Old woman candy soap. And it was colourful. With strange patterns and colors on the wall. It could not be paint, it was hard to create a consistent pattern with nothing but a crappy paintbrush and some sticks.
It whispers to you. It gave you comfort. They tell you jokes that could make you crack up. The nurse that gave you your medicine sometimes gets creeped out by this. But you didn't care. Sometimes they would let you lean on them and sleep peacefully when you bed was filled with clutter.
They told you their name. When you knew them for sometime, they never told you their name. That they only give to the ones they trust.
"Wallpaper, was it?"
A/N
IM BACK FROM THE DEAD.
THE NEXT ONES GOING TO BE SPOON.
WHY DO YOU PEOPLE READ THIS GARBAGE
YOU ARE READING
Inanimate Objects x Reader
Romance**TAKING REQUESTS.** Exactly what the title says. I will take requests. I'll get a cover later. It will be POORLY written.
