Title: Currently unnamed
Author: SynsOrion
Content: PG
Discription: A young, hopeful artist gets help from a scarred man. Taken from the idea of The Dog of Flanders and Rigoletto. Is a story in progress, currently unfinished but if enough interest is shown, I will try to write more.
~*~
Tivian was lying on her bed, in her room with a slightly crumpled and half missing piece of paper in her hands, as she stared at it from arms length. It was a recreation of a magnificent painting. It was of a man, a brush and pallet in his hands. One side of the painting was light, yellows and light blues, the other; dark, reds and blacks and he corresponded with that; half of his face was scarred, and he was sitting, in a slightly twisted position, a cane leaning up against the rock upon which he sat. It was of a tormented man and the person that had felt that torment had been the artist.
Tivian sighed softly, placing the picture upon her small desk, wishing she were as good as the artist that had created that picture. She would need a tutor to improve and she couldn't afford paints when she needed them, let alone a tutor. But, there was a contest coming up soon, in two days, and she'd saved up enough for a small set of paints that contained only the primary colors, black and white, a twelve by fourteen canvas, and a few brushes. Perhaps, regardless of the size, she might be able to win the prize money to help her family with the payments on their home, with perhaps enough left over to get herself a nice set of paints, and good paint brushes as well as some nicely sized canvases. Usually all she could afford were pencils and she'd draw on the back of old advertisements and such that the art store owner would save for her as well as her mother and Ariana, one of her friends.
She glanced back over at her desk and the small canvas next to the picture that she'd just been looking at. It was a landscape painting of a river with over hanging willow trees, some of the leaves trailing in the water, and a light splay of yellow-white flowers along the bank of the river. Her eyes shifted to the small picture that was next to it and her brow wrinkled hard as she sighed and slumped back onto her bed.
She wouldn't win. The canvas size was too small. Eleven by fourteen was nowhere near large enough. That boy, who always out did her, was sure to once again. He would have a bigger canvas and his painting would be better. But, for her mom, she would try. There was a small chance that she could win. A very small one.
She sat back up, taking the picture in her hands, holding it as she looked at the vivid colors that she'd used to paint it and sighed softly. The contest was tonight. All she could hope for was the best.
~*~
They were close to the middle of the room, on one of the benches. Her whole family as well as her friend Ariana was there. She had a small look of hope about herself; perhaps she would win, perhaps she would beat that spoilt boy who always won instead of her…perhaps…but perhaps not… She sighed at the thought then leaned back in the chair and waited for the out come of the judging.