The whole room reeked of paint. Even occasional ventilation did not help. Maybe because Evan always opened the window for a few seconds, only to close it immediately as the strong wind blew the newspaper on the ground in all directions. So, he decided to face the stench rather than his mother's wrath if the paint dripped onto the carpet.
Moreover, the smell was not the only thing that disturbed the order of the room. All over the floor and bed were crumpled sketches that Evan thought were failures. He was getting frustrated with himself. He sat over the sketchpad for hours, but he was not satisfied with anything. The canvas stood on the easel, ready for his intervention. The colours he opened were probably already slowly drying out, but even that didn't force him to dip his brush in them. He simply lacked a muse.
His room was one big mess. The music was playing too loud even for humans, not to mention a wolf's hearing. The stench of paint engulfed the room, which was already filled with papers, adding to Evan's frustration. He didn't even know at what point his head started to hurt from all of this.
Art was something he loved, but paradoxically it sometimes killed him the most. On the days when he felt the worst, he simply picked up a pencil and drew. Other times he took out a canvas, put it on an easel, and painted whatever came to his mind at that moment. But that was just an improvisation, nothing serious. Now it was different. This was his future, and he knew he couldn't afford to screw it up.
His art teacher Mrs. Monroe also relied on him, and he didn't want to let her down. Especially when she approached him, as she believed he had what it takes.
He was walking down the hall to get to his next class when his favorite teacher Mrs. Monroe crossed his path. The moment her eyes fell on him, she smiled at him and motioned for him to stop by her side.
"Everything okay, Mrs. Monroe?" Evan asked curiously before she could even catch her breath. She immediately laughed, used to Evan's bad habit. She was one of the few who even knew, as in most classes Evan preferred to be quiet rather than jump into the conversation. It was quite ironic since her classes required less talking and more doing.
"I have an interesting offer for you. Well, it was an offer, but I already filled out the application for you, so you have no choice." The tone in which she said this made him feel as if she had written his name in the Death Note. Not that he thought she even knew what it was. Although she was relatively young compared to the other teachers, she was still of advanced age. At least in one that seemed advanced to a high school student.
"Should I be worried?" he responded.
"Only about your imagination," she replied promptly, but Evan still didn't know what she was talking about.
"A little context would help." After his declaration, she finally decided to explain to him what she meant. Her next words pleased Evan, but at the same time terrified him like nothing else. These two feelings always accompanied anything related to his future, which he was already so worried about.
"I was able to enter three students from our school into the art competition. I chose you, Amber, and Johnnie," she explained and quickly added: "The entry fee will be paid by the school, you don't have to worry about that." Amber and Johnnie were really talented. They were both in their senior year, and Evan was surprised that Mrs. Monroe didn't pick another senior but him. After all, they had enough of them in art class. But he wasn't going to question her decision. It would only help his portfolio if he managed to place.
Instead, he asked, "What's the assignment?" Although he didn't doubt his abilities, there were things he really didn't like to draw. For example, he never understood the fascination with flowers.
"You practically have free rein. Whatever technique you choose is up to you. The only thing you must stick to is that your work reflects the changing world. Whether you understand it as climate change, modernization, or anything else, it's up to you." At that moment, Evan didn't think he would have a problem with the task. After all, doing whatever he wanted sounded like it was made for him. Little did he know that his muse would not cooperate.
He felt like banging his head against the wall.
A changing world. A changing world. A changing world. He could repeat it in his head as many times as he wanted, but no idea stuck to him. Nothing has changed in his world. The wolves still lived the same, waiting for their mates and obeying their alpha. He only knew about the problems of the human world from school. He knew that the climate was changing, that people were becoming more educated, and that social networks were advancing. But none of it seemed personal enough for him to be able to capture it on canvas.
Before he went crazy, he decided to ask his friends for their opinion. Maybe they were smarter than him about this.
Fortunately, his friends were teenagers addicted to social media, so he didn't have to wait long for an answer. And their ideas about the development of the world were indeed interesting.
"People are lazier. If you want information, you don't buy a newspaper or go to a bookstore, you just open Google," was Lola's reply. Evan had no doubt she knew what she was talking about since she was among those people. The moment he mentioned the bookstore, she suddenly had other plans.
"Maybe something about options? Whether it's employment, clothing, or entertainment, we have a lot of options. That certainly wasn't the case before." He really liked Josh's idea, but he wasn't sure he could capture the idea in a drawing.
"Can I use the same answer?" Aiden clearly didn't know how to approach the question. Despite his frustration, Evan laughed.
"Modernization. Inflation. Education levels rising. More opportunities for women," Angie decided to list everything she could think of.
"A sense of community. It doesn't matter where you come from, or what your background or sexual orientation is. You can find your community anywhere in the world." And as much as Aiden's answer made him laugh, he smiled genuinely at Kieran's.
"A better chance at life. In most cases, you don't have to worry about dying when you get sick. We live to a greater age." Rory spoke to them less and less as time went on. His answer pleased him all the more. And he wasn't the only one.
"Omg!!! Rory!!!"
The topic of conversation immediately changed, but Evan didn't mind since he already knew what he was going to create. All he had to do was combine the answers of his friends, and the masterpiece was within reach. They did not let him down again.
This time he sat down at the table with a steady hand. His pencil glided across the paper with ease, and even his music changed from the aggressive to soft tones of his favorite band in that second as if it knew the war was over. He had long since forgotten the mess he had made in the room and his aching head. The only thing that existed at this moment was him and his art. Every line, every arc had its place, and together they completed an idea that couldn't wait to escape from the plane of imagination.
It took a few hours, but Evan had a finished sketch. All that was left was to transfer it to the canvas. He knew it would be difficult and that it would take days, not hours, but he was looking forward to it even more. After all, nothing healed his soul like art. Art and his friends he could always count on.