They say a picture is worth 1,000 words. If this is true, why on Earth or any other stinkin planet would a horrible, nasty, good for nothing art teacher ruin every innocent students winter break by forcing a 5,000 word paper on a stupid picture they drew for the holiday scenery outside of the stage for the Christmas musical. I'll tell ya, there's nothing I rather do right now than rip this picture of a little girl putting her angel up on a tree in half and throw it out the city bus window into the streets of New York. Who can explain this in 5,000 words when I basically re-drew this picture in your head in 9. What a joke. But sure, why shouldn't I be writing in art class, when we specifically took the course to draw. Why not write when I could be shopping for my last minute family gifts, or walking up and down Broadway with my friends looking for a quick scalper, or in central park with Braydon, under the east bridge on the frozen patch of grass along the coast of the pond, where we listen to music after school on his iPod, where he asked me to the movies, where we were supposed to have our first kiss. But no, I have the privalige of writing about a girl I've never met, but drew. Who does this? Who deprives teens of little-to-none chances of having a magical first kiss you usually only see on movies? That's right, Ms. Mueller. I slammed my canvas against the bus seat in front of me. An older woman turned around. She was pale, not like winter skin pale, but next to white pale. She had dark hair and dark eyes and was very thin. She had shoulder length, straight hair, half covered by a light pink hair cloth. She was wearing a navy blue oversized sweater with a little tear in the seam. She gave me a little look, and then suddenly looked away, as if she seemed to take back her anger towards the bump I gave her seat. Under my breath, I wispered sorry.
My Christmas Picture, Chapter One
January 5, 2010