3. Vision Through Art
There was a strangely uncomfortable silence between the two of them as they walked. She tried to keep her distance, walking on the opposite side of the path to him. The first day of second semester and she was late. Her teacher would have her head, and she was almost regretting going to meet the boy that now walked beside her.
The first impression of the high school was, as always the six foot high fence that wound its way across the front of the school, it was almost ironic, were they keeping people out? Or caging the students in?
Mathew blinked steadily coming into the main building, and she came to the realisation it was his first day and he was probably awestruck by the amount of paintings and other art around the room, half of which had her name on it.
She went to a school for the artistically talented, most of the students were painters like her, but some were incredible writers, others filmed movies. They were all talented in some way, but she still managed to be at the top of her level in art. But that meant a lot of her other subjects (like English) didn't do so well.
She was nice enough to wait for Mathew to pick up his schedule, and briefly looking over her heart stopped, he was in each of her two art classes, and they shared a lunch period.
Great, stuck with the great looking guy for half a day.
While she forced herself to sit in the furthest possible corner of the art room, Mathew had to find the empty seat next to her.
Expecting old Mrs Martch she began her work easily, beginning to sketch her newest project; a set of tattoos described to her from last term. But it wasn't Mrs Martch that walked into the room, instead it was a shorter, much younger man, a five o'clock shadow covered his jaw, and his hands were filled to the brim with papers. After dumping them on the desk, he pulled out thinly framed glasses, looking at the class roll.
She stopped paying attention to the roll; her name wasn't until half way through. But she expected having to correct him on his pronunciation of her name.
'Mia?' He questioned, looking up from the paper.
'No sir, my name is pronounced like May'
'I see' he responded lazily, and she got the feeling that he would take time to learn her name.
He continued to talk throughout the class, and she ignored every word he said, concentrating only on the sketch in front of her, the drawing had gone from a set of tattoos to something else entirely; the image had stuck with her since her hospital visit, and she hasn't got the chance until now to fully draw the image.
As the last bell went, she paused taking a long breath before looking at the piece in front of her, a slender woman peered at her from the canvas, eyes a swirling mixture of her own blue/grey and a deep blood red. The swirling pulled her in and she couldn't stop staring at the image that was her, but not. Her facial structure was exactly the same, but her features seemed sharper and more pronounced.
In a shock she realised that she looked strong and powerful in the image. She looked like a warrior.