All of my stories that I'm going to post are all within the same timeline unless noted otherwise with ((independent)).
This is story number eight.
It was raining outside. This is why Craig had resorted to staying indoors, rather than out, with his canvas resting on the wooden easel. The poor boy, or rather, young man had been perturbed by the fact and had not looked forward to working indoors- though through his stoic expression, or lack-there-of, no one would have guessed that this had upset the raven-haired boy.
The assignment was to paint a landscape. When Craig woke up the morning before it was due and caught sight of the weather forecast, he sent his fist sailing through the thin canvas material of his already-started piece.
"I need LAND to paint a LANDscape," he yelled furiously, even though it was mostly his fault for not starting it earlier.
He had needed to sit and calm down for a moment and after he did, he got up and dragged his feet to the small kitchen and over to the cupboard. He opened the squeaky door and grabbed two medicine bottles from off the shelf, one was labeled "Xanax" and the other "Prozac". With a quick pop he opened each lid and took one of each in his hand. Craig's expression, though only a professional would be able to spot any change, was solemn as he looked down at the two pills in his palm.
When did I get like this.
Craig quickly swallowed them both and set off to paint. He had resorted to painting only a solitary, cluttered corner of his apartment bedroom. As he sketched and with every stroke of his paint, the question screamed in his head.
When did I get like this.
He had strived his whole life to become an artist and get into art school- his entire life. Through the many jobs and night shifts and even the selling of his own personal belongings online in hopes of making a quick buck. The only thing he had were the necessities; a run-down, crowded apartment, and his paints. Craig was a starving artist.
The skinny boy stopped painting at the thought of the words.
'Starving artist'.
This is what Craig was, and always will be. And with that final thought, and even through his stoic expression that only a professional could pin-point a change in, a tear rolled down Craig's cheek and onto the paint pallette below.