IRMA

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Review Chain


This is my first take on a thriller story. Feel free to comment if you like it or even if you don't and let me know how I can improve it. :)

Submitted: November 01, 2017

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Submitted: November 01, 2017

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IRMA

 

Jenna adds an indigo wash to her sketch as she chews on her hair. I know it’s a disgusting habit, but I don’t have the guts to tell it to her face. She called me a while ago to criticize her ink and wash artworks in her journal. Honestly, I’d prefer it if she calls me AFTER she’s done. There’s nothing much I can comment since she’s still working on it. I hate doing this for her. I mean, what am I to do there? Just stare and wait for her to finish the goddamn sketch or eating her hair?

 

I stood up from the bed and went beside the table so I’m looking down on her. “You know Jenna, I can just return later. By then, I’ll have a lot to say about the artwork. Why don’t you finish it first?”

 

“Irma, help. Please. Don’t you enjoy my company? That’s it, isn’t it? You’re my bestfriend. Isn’t this what bestfriends do? Support each other? I need you now, so I know immediately what I should change in the sketch.” She chewed on a bigger chunk of her hair. She’s drooling from the other side of her lips.

 

I walk across the room. I can’t take the pettiness anymore. “But Jenna, that’s your sketchbook. I know you share it on social media and stuff but isn’t that supposed to be a private notebook to you? Besides, it’s a travel journal. Shouldn’t you be outside to do that? You should be observing it from real life and judge the values and contrast of the images more accurately.”

 

“Accurately? What the f*ck?! Can I zoom in in real life, so I can see the details of this building more clearly? What if there’s too much natural light? Would you be willing to use your eyes as magnifying lens to burn your brain? You’re just talking sh*t! Just shut up and observe. Is that too hard to do?”

 

The door of the room opened. “Is everything alright, honey?” her mom said.

 

“Yes, mom. I’m just working on my sketchbook,” Jenna answered.

 

“Sweetheart, that’s a fun thing to do. Don’t put too much pressure on yourself. Why don’t you take a break and have some snacks downstairs?” I’ll be right over. I’ll just go get your laundry.

 

Jenna fiddled her fingers, closed the journal, and locked it in her drawer. She went to the door and had a second look at the drawer, then to her mother who seems to pay no attention, but I saw her look at the drawer too. When she heard Jenna’s 10th footstep on the stairs, she got the key from her apron and opened the drawer. She barely controlled her anguish and horror when she saw it. She covered her mouth to muffle her cries. Her husband might have heard her from the hallway and asked if everything’s alright. She almost jumped with the sound of his voice but when she concurred, she raced towards him and showed him the journal.

 

“She needs help.” She said in between the sobs.

 

Her husband looked at the journal and was horrified by the sketches. It was a picture of the church with gargoyles, sketches of demons, a faceless woman, and a big caption written in multiple layers of ink, “I got Raped by Mr. Anston. HELP. PLEASE.”

 

 

 


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