The Magic in Your Song(Trixya)

Chapter 1:Katya

Katya’s POV
    My alarm clock buzzed on the side of my bed. It caused Lucy, my cat, to jump. I, on the other hand was unbothered. It was 6am and I had been up since 2. I stayed up well into the witching hour. My mind was filled with doubt and fear about today. I knew I needed sleep but that did not stop my brain from keeping me with up with nonsense. The nonsense that became a filled cup and spilled over into my dreams. The dreams that caused me to break into a sweat. Dreams of me not being enough for anything. The darkness of the dream started to cloud my thoughts as it had done for those four lonely hours. I shook my head to fight the smoke rising in my mind, clouding my thoughts until they were blurry words and pictures. I couldn't spend anymore time hesitating.

    I was weighing my options about today. Today was the day I started my job at The Mattel Company. I was to be the assistant of the boss herself, Beatrice Elisabeth Grace Mattel. Terrified didn't seem to properly convey the emotions I was feeling. It wasn't that I was afraid of her, Ginger told me she was a southern bell with a big heart along with a laugh and hair to match. I was afraid of somehow messing up the job and therefore messing up with my friendship with Ginger. Ginger got me this job, her name was on the line. She told me how she met Beatrice at the opera and how somehow the problem of Beatrice needing an assistant so happen to come up in the conversation. Ginger told me that Beatrice inherited The Mattel Company from her grandfather, she was 20 when he died and on her 21st birthday she got the news that the multimillion dollar company was hers to run. That is all I knew about her and the company. Music really isn't my thing if I can admit that. I went to school for the arts, but mainly the art that requires those sleepless nights and stress over unfinished pieces. The blank canvas haunting your dreams causing you to stir in the night. I spent my last year of college stressing over the gallery that my work was to be featured in. I had done many galleries but this one was different. I had to come up with more than one piece. Each piece had to tell a story, each piece a puzzle that solved a riddle left by the last. There were many nights I spent uninspired. The white canvas laughed at me for so many nights.

    After a whole semester of wreaking my brain trying to come up with a story, it hit me. A cold night in December, I jumped out of my bed and went to face my enemy, the blank canvas. I knew what story I would tell, mine. The first painting was the start. Blue wide eyes were in the middle of the canvas, swimming in a sea of red. If you looked close enough you could see the American flag in the eyes. A depiction of my hope to live in America. I came to America with such hope, leaving behind the rivers of hatred in Russia. The next piece was of a heart being stitched together and blood covering the frail and gentle hands that was putting the heart back together. The hands were the hands of my mother. She worked hard to reverse damage done to me by the life that I had lived so far. The third piece showed open arms and a back to those open arms. Down the back was a river of black hair that looked like tar. The arms were warm and welcoming, but instead the figure went to the darkness. She faced the darkness only to be consumed by it. This was the dark part of my story, but only the start. When I turned 19, I turned my back on everyone who grew to love me. I walked away to "find myself" when really I was running away from who I was. I dyed my blonde hair black and tried to escape from me. Little did I know that you follow yourself everyone you go. I remember having to take breaks as I painted this painting. I could feel the hot stream of tears flow down my cheeks. As I continued painting, I remember my mother calling me, pleading through the phone for me to come home. But I ignored the voice inside me. The voice that told me to go back to her. I was in my second year of college at this time. I had so much to fight for but I gave each time. The forth piece of the story was a painting of a woman sitting alone in a bathroom. Her face covered by her black hair, and in her hand was a single needle. In the needle was a black liquid that filled her veins. You could see it creeping up her arm. I was so ashamed of this time in my life. I had fallen so far and it seemed like I was still falling. I dropped out of college because I didn't feel as if I was going anywhere and in my mind going backwards seemed better than just sitting going nowhere. The next painting was covered in shades of dark colors and at the center of the chaos, there was a single light. The dark haired girl walked reached for the light.

    When I turned 23, I started to find my way back. After a near death experience, I gave up the party life. I blacked out after a hard night and was awoken by my mother's warm hands on my face. I opened my eyes and saw those people I worked so hard to get away from, my friends Ginger, Sharron, Alaska, and my mother. They all had dark circles under their eyes as if they had been here for days and neglected sleep because I neglected to take care of myself. Ginger, Sharron, and Alaska never left my side. Ever since I met them in college, they stood by me. That day I dropped out and told them I was done trying to better myself, they never gave up. They had finished college and were living to make a path for themselves. Ginger decided to go into music while Sharron used her major in theatre to write plays that could make your blood grow cold from fear, and Alaska changed the fashion world with her edgy pieces. Even though they all had their lives to take care of, they never forgot about me.  At the end of my bed was the woman who never left ever since I was born, my beautiful mother even though the stress I caused her made her age a little, she was still the meaning of beauty in my eyes. The last painting was the black haired girl now blonde and she had those bright blue eye again with a new glow to them. A new glow for life, a better life for her hands to mold.