Reshine Morgana sat on one of the many concrete ledges that served as benches at her Los Angeles high school. It was a hot and sunny day for November, but that's California. Most of the students were in shorts and tee shirts, but not Reshine. She had a burgundy short chemise on, a black leather bodice, and a black & burgundy tapestry skirt that almost completely covered her black Doc Martens.
She penciled in the finishing touches of the charcoal faerie that she had been working on for weeks. Reshine actually though this one was good enough to get framed. A rare smile formed on her blood-red lips, and her violet eyes glinted with joy.
"Submit it." A quiet, subdued voice, (male, she noted), came from the figure that was now blocking her sunlight.
"What?" She commented, looking up at God in his favorite form for her, the goth.
"I want you to submit that," he pointed at the drawing, "into the school art showcase." God sat next to Reshine, his pierced lip forming the pout that he always seemed to wear. Why did God, of all people, have to be so damn cute?
"Why do you want me to submit this? It's not even my best work." She frowned down at all of the smudges that her fingers had made around the drawing. Her long, porcelain fingers quickly erased those smudges. She still didn't understand God…he was always having her do such weird, un-Reshine-like assignments. Like that one time he had told her to work as a candy striper, and she had ended up making quite a few friends…over the summer. After the summer ended, the other girls never spoke to her again.
"The two of us know that it's not your best work, but who else needs to know about that six foot rose painting that you have in room, right?"
"True…but still, why? Oh, right! You don't answer my questions. I forgot about that!" That was the one thing that always bugged Reshine. Her jet-black bangs fell in front of her face, hiding the pained look that she always got when she truly wanted something. Damn it! She wanted to kiss God so badly. She didn't know why, but she did. She shook off the urge and stood up, closing her sketching journal and putting it in her bookbag.
"I need to go home. My studio calls to me." That last sentence was said with as much sarcasm as Reshine could muster. She grabbed her bookbag and threw it over her shoulder. Then she turned and started the long trek up the hill to the house that her parents owned, but never seemed to inhabit.