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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
After loseing her boyfriend to an murder, she stuffs her face in painting. will this be the day she gets over him or seems to fall deeper in love?

Submitted: October 15, 2011

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Submitted: October 15, 2011

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" Come on, come on." My best friend was dragging me to an abdanded subway station. My best friend, Marci was a little four foot nine inch ball awaiting to explode. She was a young fashion deigshiner. She had her own line and was even invited to fashion week. She made sure everyone knew how succesfull she was. What i wanted to do with my life was, well, what most people in new york city wanted. To be famouse. I didnt want to be a singer or a movie star. I wanted to be an artist. I was an elementry school art teacher. so i was half way there right? wrong.

Marci's long brown curly hair bounced as she doged puddles. She had on heels and a flowing flower printed dress on. She had around her neck a pearl neckalace and bracelets to macht. By my amazment she never was robbed. I slowly followed. I was wearin convers, shorts and a plaid red and black buttion down shirt. My short blonde hair was no macht for marci's. I had no time to change. It didnt look like and adbonded subway. I looked better then the one i take to work. There had been a shooting down here two monthes away. Four people died. Rummor has it there justgoing to close it down and build a new one. Marci suddenly stopped. She sprred open her arms. To most people it would have looked like a ten foot wall that was covered in ozze. To me it was the first step in in furture. Sitting on the ground was gallons on every color i could think of. Brushes of every shape and color. I turned to her.She handed me a peice of paper. It was the ded to the subway?
"What's this?" I looked at it closer.
"That's for drawing the head deigh for my company." My eyes shot open. Yes i head dreawn her desigh but it only took tweenty minutes.I tried to hand it back to her. " Kat, keep it. Anyways i got it for a steal. If you need a light replaced or it cleaned up call me.'' Before i could protest she started to walk way. I picked up the smallest paint brush. I held it in my hands, thinking about everything I could do with it. All the things i could create with it.
I opened up the white paint and dipped my brush in it. Slowly putting the paint brush on the wall. Thinking that if i do it to fast that it would all disappear and i would wake up. I slowly slid the brush across the wall. I felt like a young child on chrismas when i saw how well the paint showed up. Faster and faster my strocks went. The painting constist on three colors. White, black and red.
After the painting was done i sat there and whachted it dry. Minute bt minute my exitment grew. So did the relization that this was real. I had miles of canves space. I could paint everything. As the seconds went by the painting grew more buetiful. It was an angel being shot down from hevean. more detail? It was my highschool and collage boyfriend, Andrew Hairison. Whenever i think of dead or the unlived life i think of him. We dated for seven years. He diedonly when he was tweenty-five. I looked down at my right hand. I still have on the enggagment ring he grave me almost a year before he died. I felt a tear run down my face. As i looked into the paintings eyes i remebered him. He always said i was the one who was gonna make something of my self. That i only had him beacuse i nneded someone to tell me how good i looked. I touched the face of the painting. It was cold. Nothing like his. He has light skin and short blonde hair. His fetures so soft and almost god like. He had been the captian of the highschool and collage team. Why he went out with me was anyone's gusse. I wasnt a chearleder or even that pretty. I was " that" girl. Until' we were mached as lab partners in bio. It was almost a macht set up in heven. I didnt belive in heven until' i have to convince my self that that's were Andrew was. That he was in a better place.
I took a step back. The paint was dried. It was also the first time ive painted him since he died two years ago.in the paiting his eyes were red. I wonder what he remember about his death. I wonder if he knows how he died or just that he died.
I heard someone step next to me. I didnt move. I could feel the coldness of the gun on the back of my head. Where was i sopouse to go? What was i sopuse to do?
I looked at the painting. Andrew had been beating to death. Had this been his killer. Was i standing next to his killer. That's insean. I mean theres a lot of people in new york. I swear i saw the picture mouth the words 'hold on" to me.
The man came close to me. "This station was givin to me by my gang after i killed someone. You might know him. Andrew. Weak and hopeless, kinda like your face."
BOOM!


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