The heat of summer had finally given way to autumn. Like a deluge of water, finally free of being held back by a dam, she felt the chill air wash over her. The wind agitated the trees, the leaves twirled in spirals around her, her skin bristled with goose bumps... but she felt alive. This was truly the best moment of the year, this feeling of finally being able to cool, creating a juxtaposition of the internal heat radiating in her body and the coldness of her skin - would that she could only capture it in a drawing to keep forever.
Each footstep she took, invoked a rustle amongst the leaves. Her converse crinkled them. The sneakers themselves were worn, her now-outdoor shoes; she just couldn't give them up after the move. Coming across a stream, it wasn't bigger than half her height, she took a leading jump, one leg outstretched in front of the other. As it landed on the other side, the other followed, brought right up next to its partner. Tightly they pressed against each other as she balanced for a few moments, resisting the push of the wind. Looking down at her feet, a strand of hair dangled in her vision as she quickly began to shuffle forward, savoring the crunch and crinkle of the leaves.
Satisfied, she picked up her stride once more to her destination. Why was it that the older she got, the less she wanted to be around others? She used to be so.. romantic.. optimistic even, like she could conquer the whole world. How naive. It's not to say she couldn't be around others... but... when she consistently spent time with them... rather, when she didn't, she just felt so much more peace; even if it was fleeting. Each passing day since... it, felt like she was becoming ever more increasingly jaded.
Breathing in deeply through her nose, she held her breath for as long as she could while she walked. The world went on around her while she put her body through this state of statis. It wasn't long before her lungs started to ache, but she pressed on. She felt them pulse; she refused to give them oxygen. This, was one of the ways to remember she was still alive.
Finally, she reached her destination - a derelict stone house. The roof had long since collapsed, making the space generally safer. In prior days, she had rolled a large rock into the space to sit on, just to make sure she wouldn't accidentally intercept any stray nails.
It was pushed into a corner, the rock, and once more she took her seat on it. Dropping her sack-like backpack beside her, she leaned her head back and wedged it as well into the corner. Light streamed through parts of a window and from above the once-roofline. The wind broke against the walls of the house, acting as her shield and protector in the wilderness. The location was quite the hike to get to, over several kilometers to reach; she could hear the waterfall in the distance - it was far, but unmistakable.
Her head started to hurt a slight bit as the rough stone blocks dug into the sides of her skull. Lifting it, she reached into her bag and grabbed her sketchbook. Uncapping her Micron, a 0.3, she slotted it between her index and middle finger. Holding the fore edge of the notebook between her middle and ring finger, she flicked her left hand outward before starting, letting her fingers feel the pull of inertia.
Grasping the bindings with her left hand, she wiped the page off with her right, even though there was nothing visibly on it, more out of habit than anything else. The tip of the pen hovered above the paper, her hand already squished down against it.
With a single stroke, it began.
Starting by drawing the horizon line, then making a dot on the left side, two lines extended from it to the bottom of the opposite edge. I had so many ideas in my head, so many scenes to draw... or at least I used to.
Next came two arcs. The tops of each were around the center of the page, but they swooped right then back around towards the bottom left of the page. Like honestly, something had to be wrong with me, you know, it was obvious something was off in my head but.. something.. more, you know?
The two lines stretching from left to right became more detailed. First, they turned into a block, then, between the lines, small rectangles began to detail the block. My parents, my old friends, they all told me I was fine. Then why dont I feel fine?
Two additional vertical shapes stretched down from the rectangular, horizontal one till they met the right-most curve, causing them to be terminated. These were also detailed with the same smaller rectangles as the horizontal block. Like... they weren't saying I hadn't been through something difficult.. mom even said most people, if they went through what I did, they wouldn't be able to get out of bed each day.
Now, between the two arcs, shading was given, going downwards starting from the right line to the left - at least at the top. The bottom shading started from the left line and went to the right. But with each passing day, is that not what I'm becoming? How is it that I used to be okay, but now I'm not?
The higher the shading, the lighter it was; the lower the shading, the darker. Everyone goes through tough shit. I'm just a weak little bitch.
From the left side of the drawing, long lines started to rise up till eventually they curved together and intertwined. They stood tall and imposing. What's even the point of thinking about these things? What new conclusions could I ever come to?
She added shading on the tall monuments to the heavens. I've turned these thoughts over and over in her head. Run the situations through in my mind till I'm frazzled. Why can't there be any answers??
On the right, a forest began to bloom, trees full of life.. standing tall and strong, stretching far into the background. What's even the point of thinking about these things? Why can't I just turn my thoughts off and enjoy nature? Like this thought process is pointless.
Behind the trees, she drew an imposing mountain range, standing tall, proud, strong. I've tried going to friends, but... it's just using them. There's no sign of getting over my problems, and turning to them repeatedly when you know there's possibly no end is just.. manipulative.
In the middle of the span, she drew a figure, standing tall, strong, guarding. What a fucking bitch.
Three more figures ran towards the one, prepared for battle. There's no release. There used to be, after crying, after talking it out, after just.. trying to outlast it, but it always comes back.
Her hands were shaky. She drew clouds. It's the constant in life.
Her emotions overwhelming her, she streaked her pen across the paper repeatedly, the rain pouring down on the scene. Life is just.. pain with happiness sprinkled in, giving us hope enough to stay afloat till that constant takes over again. We live this way till we die. Everyone knows it, therapists have told me it, friends have told me it. I'm fucking hopeless.
Tears dripped down onto the paper, splotching the ink. She pulled her knees up and let the pen drop. The sketchbook itself fell into her lap. Her sobs rang out... she tucked her head into her knees and covered the tops of them with her arms and just... cried.