Out of his League

• Prologue

"it's a terrible feeling bein' the ghost on the wall that's always disappearing."
Song: Prom Queen
  Artist: Catie Turner

Louis stumbled into the large studio, his backpack draped over his shoulder and art supplies in a tight grip against his chest. He quickly finds an easel, dropping his bag and placing his supplies neatly on the table next to his work space. He patiently waited for the rest of the group to come through the door, listening to them chatter. Louis was never the social type, he was usually the first person to enter the room (purposely missing out on the crowd of friends talking about nonsense) and sat towards the back with his oil paints and wooden brushes.

This was pretty much the only place where he felt totally comfortable and unbothered, where he could put his heart into the masterpiece that would be softly washed onto the canvas. Whatever had been on his mind could freely end up on an art piece that would probably never be seen by anyone important, but that didn't matter much to Louis. The recognition by someone in the industry would do so much to his confidence though, someone viewing his work, and helping him better his art was something he thought of often, although he'd never have the will power to actually put himself out there.

"Good morning class, today's painting topic is sorrow. Using shades of blue, interpret this the best you can."

Louis nodded, laying out blue and white Arteza oil based paints, dipping softly into the with the tip of his worn brush. He's had these brushes for too many years, but they healed a tremendous amount of sentimental value. Even as a child, art was something close to Louis heart, and his mother knew that. Though the family had been tight on money, his mother bought him these brushes, very expensive, with a crimson gold ferrule (that's now more of a brown).

"Also, we are finally holding a school wide art gallery and or auction. Which can consist of any painting from your years here at the school. The list is on the door, if interested, please sign up,"

Louis froze at the professors statement, finally, there was a chance to show others his art, but would be actually do it? Would he actually participate?

Within a few minutes, his paint brush glided along the smooth canvas, laying blues along the white background. He had no idea what would come of this painting today, he never really knew, his wrist just swiftly swiped until the picture can come into view. Before he knew it, the base was a deep ocean blue and he began filling the now cool toned atmosphere of the picture with fallen leaves, mostly torn and broken. The tree came soon after, black and thin covering the vertical length of the 9x5 canvas.

By the time class had ended Louis' painting was just a barren tree, not much life to it's branches and leaves fallen at the base. Louis wasn't sure what this meant to him and why this is what he pictured hearing the word 'sorrow'. As he made sure the bristles of his used brushes were fully clean he heard as the bulk of the class exited the studio. "Mr. Tomlinson," he was a bit startled by his professor "yes?" he mumbled softly, eyes looking up towards her and the back down to his brushes. "I'm hoping to see your name on that list, I'm sure many people would love you see your pieces." professor Anderson spoke, glasses slightly lowered onto the bridge of her nose. Her thin grey hairs, falling past the rim of them as she hoped he would make eye contact with her. A quick sigh fell from Louis' lips, he was unsure.

"Your talent is unmatched Mr. Tomlinson, please consider it." — "There will be a few museum critics looking for new artists, it will be a great opportunity for you and your future." Louis could feel the tension, her eyes burning into him as she spoke. "It's, uh, I'll think about it." he stated softly, finally gathering his supplies and grabbing the now dried canvas, walking closer to professor Anderson's desk, leaning it on there lightly. He did really want to be apart of the gallery, and professor Anderson was right, imagine the opportunities he could have because of this. The recognition, he deserved would finally grace him.

His feet carried him to the door, he sighed a little glancing at the sign up list taped to the dark wooded door. 'Gallery: January 15th.' A few names written along the first 4 lines. Reaching into his pocket swiftly, before he could change his own mind, pulling out his black pen. Louis signed his name, biting his lip anxiously before quickly scurrying off tightly clinging to his backpack. He thought to himself many times 'turn around, and take your name off that list you absolutely twat', but he never did. A step in the right direction.