A weepie for you this time, complete with massive amounts of symbolism and double meaning! Enjoy.
Written '05 when I was thinking of an rp character's past.
The small person slid into their seat, ignoring the look they got from a teacher as they quietly opened a sketchbook and got out a pencil before bending their head to it and carefully drawing a line in pencil, faint but clear.
With careful attention to detail a waterfall of cloth fell from slender hips before the other people in their class showed up and talked too loudly for the artist to pay attention to the drawing. The book was carefully shut and the head tilted up as they drank in the information coming from the projector.
12 / 02.
An arm appeared today in the drawing, elegant fingers stretched to clasp another hand as her feet lightly stepped and some stray hairs from the dancer’s pinned up hair drifted behind her as she moved. This time the clever pencil was blunter, it had been used too much and needed sharpening, carefully the pad was shut as they stood and moved away.
When the artist returned to the desk there was no pad on top of it and their mind froze for an instant in worry. Quick hands reached down and flicked through their bag before lifting it away. A silent sigh of relief escaped their lips as the clever hand stretched towards it and gentle fingers curled around its battered cover to lift it back to the darkness of the bag.
13 / 02.
Now more of the scene was revealed. The dancer in the ball dress had a partner now, crisp suit flowing easily in movement, velvet blackness of the jacket matched by the start of legs. He had a beard and a twinkle in his eye as the pair swung through the page.
A jagged line sped across the pad as it was yanked from the caring artist’s grip. The eyes travelled up to meet a scornful gaze with shock before the hand again stretched for the pad, mouth forming a silent question. A shake of the head and the pad moved away with mocking laughter. The artists eyes lowered in shame as their creation was jeered at. Soft cloth became smudges, love to lust and beauty to failed ambition.
The pad spun its way carelessly across the desk to lie under the artist’s nose and the loving hand snatched it up quickly. Defensive. Then hurry to hide the evidence as the teacher arrived apologising.
14 / 02.
The pad was carefully opened again at the same page and gentle fingers caressed the page, taking away the damage of before, leaving it nearly as good as new. You could never totally erase the marks left. Still the pencil swept across, forming lines with even more loving care than before if possible, cautious building up of graphite.
It was finished. The dancers shone with happiness from the page to be reflected by bright eyes. The small pad was held easily in their hand, pencil resting next to it peacefully. That gentle finger traced the edge of the picture, the surface causing it to tingle slightly.
The artist smiled lovingly as their heart broke.