I run through my form room door, my heart in my mouth. Some people look up but many keep talking. I'm used to this because no one ever talks to me. They think I'm weird; always carrying around my sketch pad and have a pencil in my hair. I couldn't care less. It's more peaceful on my own.
"Late again Bliss. What's your excuse this time? Got lost on the way to school?" My class mates laugh but I hold my head up high. "No sir." I say taking my seat.
"Then why are you late?" He asks, not looking up from his paper. I shrug. "I left late." It's that simple. I say it every day when he asks. What's the point lieing? My form teacher sighs, but says no more. I take out my pad and open it to my latest drawing. It's of the cementary where father is buried.
I've changed it though. Instead of looking like it does to everyone else, I've done what my imagination tells me. There's mist all around and a ghostly figure of father is standing there saulting proudly. I untangle the pencil that's always behind my ear and start drawing. Sketching here and there, my hand linked to my imagination, drawing exactly what I see in my head.
I've always been good at drawing. It's my talent. The bell goes for first period and I have to pack away my pad and retangle my pencil in my hair. It's going to be another long day.