Painting Pictures

Malrick has an overactive imagination. His mind involuntarily turns ordinary walks into treks through a mystical forest and boring classrooms into ancient chambers and caverns. He spends his time hiding from others. But then Malrick meets a girl named Rule who teaches him that what he sees isn't delusions, but a gift that he can learn to harness. But Rule isn't all she claims to be, and with his parents convinced Malrick is nuts, Malrick will need to unravel the truth of wether he has a wild imagination, a rare mental disorder or a magic gift. And doing so just might mean he will need to stop hiding and trust a girl he barely knows.

1Likes
1Comments
909Views
AA

1. Malrick

Chapter 1

 

 

-Malrick-

When colours sweep over his vision, for once Malrick Nanear doesn't panic. He feels nothing, in fact, as the classroom slowly disappears, replaced by colours and noises and shapes. Too vivid to be simply his imagination, but unable to be explained otherwise. 

It's a cave this time, as the colours and lights bend into an image. High, arching walls, carved from reddish stone. 

Malrick does nothing but sigh, and wait for it to pass. He doesn't move, doesn't leave his desk—now a rock formation—and explore. Last time that happened, he ended up in therapy for a week, everyone convinced he was crazy. He was still convinced he was, but the doctors had pronounced him perfectly fine. 

But he wasn't, because this didn't happen to people who are ‘perfectly fine.’ They weren't swept up in visions so realistic, it became hard to distinguish reality. 

Slowly, painfully slowly, the cave fades, returning him to the classroom. As he blinks to adjust back to real life. He becomes aware of the sight of everyone’s eyes on him, especially the teacher. Who stands at the front of the class, dark and imposing, every inch of him indicating his annoyance.

“What did I just say, Malrick?” The teacher demands, and Malrick freezes in fear, staring into the teacher's angry gaze. 

“Uh… s-sorry Mr. M-Millard… I d-don't know,” he stutters, trying to calm his rocketing heart and trembling hands. 

“You have notes to copy. Get to work. And Malrick, I'd like to see you after class,” he commands. Everyone busies themselves with copying down notes, including Malrick. His hands shaking so hard he can barely write.

No more ‘Visions’—as he refers to them—appear. His imagination leaves him alone, maybe getting a notion of the trouble he'd be in if the teacher caught him ‘daydreaming’ once again. 

Malrick isn't like most guys. It started out when he was ten, four years ago, and his overactive imagination made itself known, but even before then he never fit in. He was always the odd one out, maybe because of the colour of his skin, maybe because the challenges his stutter pose in conversation. 

Whatever the cause, no one could ever accept him. Then on top of that, fate dropped the Visions on him, the times where ordinary situations transformed into something more exciting. It wasn't all bad, except for when he  needed to be able to focus, and they randomly took over. 

In his head, he knows he will never be part of the crowd. In his heart, he refuses to give up. He will overcome all his problems, in some way or another. He will get through it. 

Eventually. 

But for now, he is stuck as the outcast, the underdog. After what seems like a year, the class ends, and Malrick slips out, pushing his earbuds deep in his ears, filling his soul with music. This is a kind of ritual for him, drown out everything in rhythms and lyrics, using the stories of songs to escape from his life. 

As if the Visions weren't good enough escape. He just wished he control when they came and went, instead of being their slave. 

Schools out, and he treks to the bus. Colours threaten him in the corner of his eyes, but he pays them no heed. He simply plants himself on the uncomfortable bus seat, waiting to reach his stop.

When he does, he walks in somber silence all the way back to his house, his house, not his home, because he feels like he will have no true home, no matter where he lives. He will never belong.

Song after song, hour after hour, slide by. His parents return from work, calling him down to supper. He doesn't go, he is lost in his own sorrows. 

Laying in his bed, weighed down by his roiling thoughts, he can only hope he will feel better tomorrow

Join MovellasFind out what all the buzz is about. Join now to start sharing your creativity and passion
Loading ...