What's the Worst thing I can Say?

Quietly, I make my way to the art room. I open the room's door, taking in the rich smell of oil paints and pastels. My cut aches from the teen's nails digging their way into my flesh, but I get started without a complaint of injury. I start by sketching out a background, very similar to Sleepy Hollow. It was dark, dreary and last, but not least, beautiful. The trees were a light brown, behind it was a black sky. I admired it with great potential. I knew it could become something. Something different, unique.

Thoughts about troubles, sadness, darkness, hope...they had related to me. That was my life at its most basic form. Still, there was something missing. In all the horror/suspense movies, there was something hidden from plain sight.A myriad of people could find the thing missing, but a message would be shown. A message that could change the world. Could this drawing be it?

Without hesitation, I found myself drawing a hidden object : a shadow. A shadow that foreshadowed the future. In a couple years, this drawing would be of use to me. At the moment, I decided to tuck it inside my sketchbook.

"Hey, can I see what you drew?" a girl asked me.

Notes