painted { h e a r t s } // Meghan : blitz

[k!ah]

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I watch as my make small indents in the wet sand. It fascinated me, the way the indents formed an image in front of my eyes, it was just so magical. A smile slipt my face as my toes began to move faster, the image that I have formed in my mind, slowly being poured out onto the white sand before me. At first the indents in the sand seemed to release a sense of pointlessness, but as I kept moving the sense began to fade, a sense of meaning replacing it. I have always taken pride in the images that I could create in a matter of moments. I was an artist, an artist who creates things that matter, who created things that had meaning, that were relevant to life. But I was also an artist who indulged in making things perfect.

Perfection was my key. To make something perfect was to make a masterpiece. But my perfection may not be the perfection that you are thinking of. I might of done an extra brush stroke of a painting, that painting that might of seemed perfect, is the ruined- well it might seemed like it is… but really that stroke f imperfection, that error is what really makes that painting perfect. Mistakes, error or blunder is what makes a piece of art perfect. Perfection is not what makes something perfect; mistakes show a real, true raw passion, mistakes are what make something perfect.

My eyes stare at the indents in the sand and I knew, really knew that the image in front of me was perfect. I smile once again and close my eyes, the ray’s sun warming my skin. If I could just create art every minute of the day, my life would be perfect, a place where I would never be bored again.



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[Meghan]

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She had not wandered out here in a while, just to lay aside her trident and sit upon her favorite rock in order to take a moment to consider the deep meaning and intracity of life. It had not seemed necessary with her father's fishing business finally managing its first success, and the demand for her time being tenfold its usual amount. Sitting alone was an unnecessary habit, was it not? Frances liked to tell herself all sorts of things, but that never quite made them true.

It was a nice change, solitude, and she almost would not have noticed the others, or suppose she should say, one other, if it wasn't for it being almost too peaceful. For her neck began to prickle with an indeterminate cause, and if her neck was prickling, then there must be a reason.

The girl of only fifteen swung 180 degrees on her rock and faced the rude boy, who was only innocently drawing lines on the sand, but had still interrupted a time she had dedicated just to herself. She crossed her arms and let out a loud, announcing cluck with her tongue in the hopes to get his attention.

"A moment of peace after a busy day was all I asked for,"

[/b] She declared and threw her hands into the air with the most dramatic flurry. Let him be ashamed. "What was so important to take that away from me?"[/color][/color]
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Word Count: 238

[k!ah]

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"A moment of peace after a busy day was all I asked for," a loud voice interrupts my peaceful thoughts. My eyes fly open to see a young girl sitting on a rock not too far away. A frown slips onto my face. What was she talking about? how was I ruining her peace? I hadn’t even said a word! If anything, this rather rude girl, was wrecking my peace. All my life I have had to deal with moody teenagers, you see I was like the father figure of my family, always looking out for my brothers and sister, always being a victim to their harsh words. "What was so important to take that away from me?"

The frown only grows as she throws the question at me. I just didn’t get it. I hadn’t anything away from her. I had just been sitting here- silently may I add- carving an image into the damp sand that I sat upon. Sometime I just didn’t understand people and the way that there mind works. That’s why I preferred to avoid others, not interested in the problems, and complications that arise when one tried to interact with another. “Uh, sorry,” the words fall out of my mouth before I can stop them. I wanted to yell at her, to tell her to piss off… but I couldn’t, each time I tried to say the words, they died on my tongue… “I- you- I-“ I try, but each word dies on my lips. “You know what- you have a smart mouth, one that should not belong on a girl your age.” I say finally.



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[Meghan]

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She rises as the boy stands like a lonesome freight in the middle of a cyclone. This is one sailor who will not go down with the ship. The tide is rising, and she has no intention on setting sail with its mistakes. He hurls insults and she shrugs them off, her eyes wide with questioning focus.

"Smart mouth?" She demands, arms still waving madly, "You think that demanding a moment of serenity is smart than you have clearly misunderstood the definition of smart!" The girl guffaws, an arm clutching her stomach for support as she laughs at the boy, "Smart: having or showing quick intelligence or ready mental capability. What I believe you are trying to define is being an ass-hat, in which case, yes, I probably am being one. But people have been being quite rude lately, and I just wanted to be alone, okay? You could have found a different place to do whatever you were doing, you know."

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Word Count: 162

[k!ah]

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Great, cause that just sounded real mature. Sighing I pull my gaze away from the girl who bursts into laughter, her whole body shaking as the giggles escape her lips. I couldn’t really blame her could I? I sounded like a fool telling her that she had a smart mouth, I mean really. Words spill out of the girls lips, her arm moving to clutch her belly- a sign that she was laughing extremely hard. I try not to roll my eyes at the girls over exaggerated laughter, but the undying need to let my eyes roll into the back of my head got the better of me.

“… But people have been being quite rude lately, and I just wanted to be alone, okay? You could have found a different place to do whatever you were doing, you know." Her voice slips through my thoughts like an annoying mosquito, but I try to dull it down a bit, letting my mind be distracted by the masterpiece that I had created on the sandy shore. It truly was something that I was proud of, the lines in front of me swirled and twisted forming an image of the beach shack that I called my home. From details such as the fish net that covers the left half of the shack to the little surfboards that hang around the front door. I smile down it- despite the situation I was in.

“It’s my home you know. Look at the detail, the way you can see that crack on the front door. It’s perfect.” I say, more to myself than the girl in front of me. “But in all honesty how does me drawing in the sand affect you?” I ask, tilting my head to the side, looking the girl in the eye for the first time since she had started talking. It was the first time I had really looked at the girl and I froze, struck by the beauty that radiates from her. I wanted to draw her, I wanted to put my pencil to paper and draw the girl, and her imperfections that make her perfect.



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[Meghan]

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It became quickly obvious that shrewd words would not be a great enough tactic to scare this boy away. Honestly, it was almost a pity, for peacefulness was hard to come by these days. Still, this boy seemed determined to speak to Frances and if she was being true to herself, it had been a while since she had any sort of human interaction that did not have to do with fishing, or worse, expectations.

“It’s my home you know. Look at the detail, the way you can see that crack on the front door. It’s perfect.” He indicates something, but his eyes are distant and the girl can tell that the words are not supposed to be her business. It was quite odd how similar his current anecdotes were to her usual, wordsmith philosophy. Details matter, but not if they overshadow the overall picture. She forgets her anger for a minute, her mouth losing its sarcastic smirk as she waits for the boy to finish his thoughts. The strong temptation to share her own perspective wafts through the salt-filled air, yet the girl bites her tongue until she feels a familiar sting of pain. The boy could not distract her that easily. He continues, his eyes turning to truly take in her secrets. “But in all honesty how does me drawing in the sand affect you?”

A rogue grin stretches across her face with fought eagerness. She does not want to share herself with a perfect stranger, but his questions contain enough honesty for her to question her abrupt nature. "It is not about what you were doing, it is about why you were doing it," Frances responds simply, for once the sarcasm missing from her voice. She meets his eyes daringly, her smile intended this time. "You are interesting," She announces, and for the first time moves away from her rock to come observe his focused work. "Stay entertaining and I might let you stick around for a minute longer. But after that, surely you must leave me alone. Now, tell me, what are you actually doing?"

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Word Count: 365

[k!ah]

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Perfection. Perfection was something that I longed for, something that caught my eye, something that gave me the inspiration to put pencil to paper. Now, staring at the girl in front of me, I felt that inspiration, that desire to seek my pencil, to grab that note book of mine, and to draw her, draw her and all of her imperfections, that make her perfect. That scowl on her face, that look of annoyance that shone in the depths of her eyes, was something that made a picture gain a story, gain a true meaning. It was those things, those simple display of emotions, that made art something to be admired.

"It is not about what you were doing, it is about why you were doing it," She says it as though it is the most obvious thing in the world, and I tilt my head slightly, the last of my thoughts slipping away into the back of my mind. Then she finally meets my eyes, her lips offering me a small smile. I don’t know if it is real- after what I have seen from the girl so far- I cannot be sure what’s real and what’s not. So I just pretend she isn’t smiling, wiping her lips from her face. "You are interesting. Stay entertaining and I might let you stick around for a minute longer. But after that, surely you must leave me alone. Now, tell me, what are you actually doing?"

Leaving that rock of hers, she wanders over to where I sat crouched in the sand, the image of my home, of the place where memories live, engraved into the damp surface. “I am creating art. I am turning something that seems so useless, so pointless, into something that has meaning, into something that tells a story.” My voice almost seems dreamlike as my gaze once again slides over the image before me. A smile slips onto my lips, as I take in the masterpiece with gentle eyes. “I am creating a story. A story about my past… about my family.”




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[Meghan]

i'm running, running, running and you can't catch me.

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The boy speaks in a series of images as he describes the little thing he calls art. Family, past experiences, and future hope all seem to shape his words, and she leans into just a little bit closer to hear him describe his masterpiece. If it was stories he wanted then it was stories she could give him, the thread of fables being one of her favorite things. Frances smiled a genuine grin, the corners of her lips pushing into her cheeks and her dark eyes twinkling, not unlike the wise old wizards in stories of old.

"Stories," She whispers and reaches into the sand before her. She traces the outline of her left hand and furrows a brow, her mind working earnestly. "I love stories. Real ones, not just the ones about our lives but the ones we could never actually live out. Where we fly away on our dragons or marry the prince or whatever. Oh, those are my favorite." Her eyes glaze over and she falls into silence, her heart reeling from the thought of a good tale.

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Word Count: 181

Okay, so bear with me for a bit here. I'm trying a new thing where I convey as much as possible in as little as possible. Just trying to challenge myself as a writer. <3

[k!ah]

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"Stories, I love stories. Real ones, not just the ones about our lives but the ones we could never actually live out. Where we fly away on our dragons or marry the prince or whatever. Oh, those are my favourite." I turn my face away from the engraving in the sand. A smile was perched on the girls face as she talked about stories, about fairy tales where everything always had that happy ending. I hated those story, they were an unrealistic perspective of the world that children feel in love with, only to find out that life wasn’t really like that- that love was not only about giving, about happiness, but it was also about hurt, about betrayal. To me, they were nothing but lies, lies that caused more evil than they did good.

“I don’t like stories- not the ones you speak of.” My voice is quiet, and barely audible. I wasn’t sure I wanted to tell her this- she had just started to show me some kindness, maybe if I lashed out at her like this, disagreed with what she was saying, I might lose the part of her I had just found, and he reunited with the bitchy, snarky side that I had just escaped. “But that’s only my opinion,” I add quickly.

I turn my head away from her once again, my fingers burying themselves into the sand beside my work. I watch as the grains move out of the way, my fingers forming small holes as they dig- like earthworms- into the grains of white. “What’s your name?” I asked all of a sudden, my head springs up, my steady gaze focused on the girl and the girl alone.



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