Raven turned off the light in the bathroom and tiptoed downstairs to her studio. Early in childhood, Raven exhibited an exceptional talent in the arts. She could transform a blank canvas into another world. Her parents converted the basement to a private studio when she was ten years old. As she closed the door behind her, the comforting scent of oil paint surrounded her. All the anxiety left her as she moved about her sanctuary, stepping over canvases, her bare feet sticking to drops of paint on the floor. For Raven, painting was a mental and physical experience that demanded privacy. With the door closed, no one would bother her. She turned on the portable speakers and chose a rock playlist on her iPod. The music helped her move out of herself and into the artist.
She slopped a generous amount of red, blue, and yellow on the palette and used her fingers to mix until a rich red resulted. She prepared for the first stroke. The brush hovered over the white canvas for a brief moment. Then her hand moved with the first, and hardest stroke, leaving a reddish orange curve. Raven lost herself. As she painted, the rest of the world disappeared.
Finally, hours later, she stepped back to survey her work. She stood before a desert at sunrise. A red desert, with velvety red mountains and a storm brewing in the distance.
I'm just curious.... did you update this to include the iPod, or did they have them already when you originally wrote this? It's amazing how fast the world changes!
ReplyDeleteI updated it to include the iPod. Stereo just sounded so out of date! I'm sure there are more things I'll need to update as I go along. My old stories are great evidence of how quickly the world does change. I have a time travel one and the future in that story is 2003!
ReplyDeleteDid the real 2003 look anything like what you had envisioned?
ReplyDeleteThe future in this story wasn't very sci-fi futuristic, actually. It was about mobsters hiding a time machine inside secret caves attached to a ski resort. I have no idea where I came up with that. This one I wrote in our senior year at Dobson High.
ReplyDeleteThat's great that you have some of your writing from high school. Much of mine got thrown away over the years. That's okay, though.... my last memories of writing at Dobson were not very positive. I don't remember his name, but my last English teacher was harsh!
ReplyDelete