My English teacher, Mrs Addams, had her hair up in a tight bun today, her mousy brown hair sticking out from every curve and clip. I liked it when she had her hair up. It meant she was in a good mood, most likely. Once, after she was engaged, she didn't stop wearing it up for weeks. It looked shiny up. Down, it looked flat and damp, greasy and it made her look old. But instantly, with the snap of a bobble, she turned from 46 to 27.
"Alright, so what does the colour and the lighting the author uses say about the character?" She asked, a thin smile on her face.
I sat by the window, and I enjoyed looking out very much. Opposite, on the windowsill of another class, two white doves had made their nest there. The teachers warned us not to touch it. I never did, but I threw seeds and bread crusts out of the window before when nobody was around. The nest had been there ever since I started college, and I had never seen a single egg being laid or hatched. Not one. Just the two pure doves, sat merrily, making their home.
I continued drawing stars all down my wrist. The bruises had definitely vanished, and my pale skin was no longer purple, or black, or blue. The clusters of blue stars at the top of my wrist sank down my arm until I only dotted one or two towards my elbow. The sleeves of my black and red checked shirt were rolled up just above my elbow, giving me room to draw.
I sighed contently with the results and bit the end of the pen tenderly between my teeth. Gazing wondrously out the window, I spied some rain drops dripping down the window softly. Tap. Tap. Tap. I looked around the quiet class, wondering if anybody else was entranced by Mother Nature's music. But no, all twelve people who'd chosen English as their subject choice here looked dead eyed at the board, mouths wide open like suffocated goldfish. Sometimes I felt like the only one who made an effort; not specifically to work, but hey, at least I looked nice. Everybody else were wearing tracksuits or hoodies, while my artistic flair shone out through my tight black jeans and my Nirvana tank tops. Then again, I couldn't blame them. I felt as sorry for them as I did for myself, and that didn't mix well with the stress and the paranoia I was enduring already. I shouldn't care about them, I should care about me.
Seeing that nobody here was interested in anything around them but the air in which they could breathe, I internally smiled and continued to peer out of the glass. Across the road, by the car park, I spotted somebody, a lone strange looking man, tall, wearing a dark trench coat and holding a black umbrella. His back was faced towards where I was looking, so I couldn't catch a glimpse of his face. He was most likely normal, yet his gait and how artistically he stood made me want to draw down ideas or something, the itching feeling that the scenario he was in gave me a million ideas. He could be going out for a walk. He could've just broken up with his partner. He could've been waiting for his partner. Or heck, maybe he just liked the rain.
"Stella?" A faded voice sank me back into reality, as though I'd just been pulled to safety from drowning. My eyebrows raised and I looked towards who was calling me- the teacher- neck craned like a curious meerkat. "Colour representation? Lighting? Any ideas?" She asked, with a pleading look. "Please?" She knew that nobody else in the class would give her suggestions.
I stuttered in my throat. I glanced back at the excerpt sheet in front of me, on the desk and answered. "Uh... it all represents danger and there's like... a grim theme."
"How?"
"The colour red represents danger, blood or death, meaning that, um, the character wearing red could potentially be a grim figure..."
Those lips, that smile, those two... long... scars...
"A-and the lighting is dark. The character casts a shadow when they walk into the room, like they're, um... darkening the mood..."
