Black, Grey, White and Lime green

Sam draws in shades- Black, Grey and White. With his mental pain, the colour of his life seems to grow darker and darker. But when Lucy's colour comes into his life, it might make his palette brighten.

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1. Chapter 1

The moving pictures in my mind, transfer to my hand, making the pencil rise in an arch on the page. It starts like this, then the layers apear, layer upon layer of lead, dark and light, etch out an outline for the film in my head. With the main outline done, I add the details, the hats, the scarves, the facial features, until the actors are perfectly frozen, still in time. Background shading is added for the shadows and the colour of the building. I highlight the lighter parts, making the corners and ridges more prominent. The river is drawn, curving and rippling in the pencil sun. The smaller buildings surrounding that central piece have had the details added, the house numbers and names and the window boxes and balconies. Cars parked around the structures appear, still and silent. The traffic ceases to exsist, the number plated transporters stop. The lamp posts and post boxes are uniformed, standing to attention in the motionless world. With each aspect complete, my hand leaves the paper. I put aside my pencil and gaze at my finished work. I turn and walk and as I do, I'm surrrounded by the grand halls of the National Museum. People look at the canvas that I have just walked away from, a pencil sketch of the Imperial War Museum.

I am slowly brought back to reality from that happy dream, by the smell of my brothers deoderant. Lynx Africa, disgusting. "Come on,"He chucked a pillow at my face," mum said we're late." I got dressed and rushed downstairs, hoping to grab a piece of toast but mum handed me my bag and pushed me out the door. "I'll be back at around eleven, there's a microwave meal for both of you in the fridge, Love you, go quick," and I ran after my brother.

It took me around 20 minutes to reach school. My brother left me half way there, to meet his friends and have a fag. I wish he didn't smoke. He stinks out our room and sprays more lynx to mask the smell so mum won't find out. It makes it hard to breath. I draw a picture about my feelings about the subject, but he tore it up and binned it.I head straight to my form room in the english block and sit with my sketch book. When the bell rings I hastily put my sketch book away, as Mat Twills and his mates walk in. "You alright stupid. How's your brain cell working," his friends roared with laughter and took their seats at the back of the classroom. The rest of the class assembled and the register was taken. The calls of 'present' rang across the classroom but I wasn't interested. The dream about the picture in the museum was going through my head. I'd been hoping to draw that scene of the Imperial War Museum for a while. My mind was imagining every line drawn by the pencil, every arm movement I would make, when the sound of my name brought me back to my form room. "Sam," it was Miss Billinson. "Present," I quickly answered. There was a laugh. Mat was mimicking falling asleep on his hands. Everytime his head drooped, he stuck a finger in his nose and his middle finger up at me. I turned away. I kept telling myself, 'he's done worse', which he had. The bell rang again and I picked up my stuff to go to Physics. As I lifted my bag onto my shoulder, I tore off a note. I didn't even need to read it. It was the usual comment about, that because I'm dyslexic I'm an idiot. It's not my fault I find it dificult to read and write. Art is what I'm good at and running. I can beat Mat any day at art, and possibly running. I try and push the glorious moment I beat Mat to the back of my mind. I walked through the door to Physics and took my place. I could tell it was going to be a long day.

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