As individuals, we all have something unique about ourselves. It might be something big that'll make you famous, like singing or being a genius. Although, it could also be something small, like a good heart or even perfect white teeth. It's something special that not one other person can take from us. Even though it cannot be taken, it can still be lost if we're the ones who choose not to use it.
What is unique about me? Art. I love to draw and write and music helps me through everything. Art interests me, occupies me, and defines me. I express myself through drawing. When I write I tell my stories, my past, through another character. As the pounding of bass, the strum of guitars, and the melody of voice flow through me I'm invincible.
Like now, with my headphones drowning the noise of peers chattering and our teacher hushing, I can be the 2-D shaded girl on white. She wears a timid but genuine smile, and standing next to her with a smile more broad, is her brother. Their hands are laced together as if telling the world the other is all they need.
I sit back and close my eyes. I allow myself to relax to You Wouldn't Know Me by Vexare. No thinking, or seeing. I just feel the bass thrum with the piano, accelerating until finally the drop hits me and eventually the song ends.
There's only seconds of muffled voices outside my headphones, then a new song starts. As I slowly open my eyes, I can't help but tap my foot along with In This Moment's Adrenalize. The quicker pace urges me to begin a new drawing. Idea's flood my mind. A young girl, surrounded by forest. She equips a bow with both hands and a carrier full of arrows is slung over her back. Her face is intense, set. She's determined. Waiting for her prey to make a mo-
I'm torn away from art by a tap on my shoulder. With a scowl I turn around in the uncomfortable school desk to look at the guy who sits behind me. His face is blank and I decide to see what he wants.
"Can I help you?"
"Yeah, I don't really get number eight." He replies.
I roll my eyes in irritation, "You think I do?"
"Well, yeah," He says, "You've been working the whole time. You seem to get it."
Ha! Like I'd waste my time doing math! What a joke. Even if I had eight done, or even the first problem, there's no way I would help him. Just because he plays basketball and all those girls with the short shorts worship him doesn't mean I do. He's rude and doesn't give anyone respect.
I notice his fingers tapping the desk, waiting. I just shrug and turn back around. I ignore him and return to my music. Picking up my #2 pencil I sign my picture of the twins. I gently put that aside and resume brainstorming to fill my new, blank canvas of white.
As individuals, we all have something unique about ourselves. It might be something big that'll make you famous, like singing or being a genius. Although, it could also be something small, like a good heart or even perfect white teeth. He is basketball. I am art.
