I hate that Magnolia tree. Well, technically I don't hate the tree in general. Just what it seems to stand for.
See, before I moved into this house there was a couple. After they got married they planted that tree when it was just a sapling. Then the married couple got the brilliant idea of writing their initials onto the trunk, the wife using her maiden name.
Then they had kids, a boy and a girl from what I've heard. Their kids grew older then found boyfriends and girlfriends of their own. And for some reason they decided to follow in their parents footsteps and write their intials on the trunk.
So to make a long story short, that damn Magnolia tree basically stands for love, considering all the intials surrounded by hearts that are forever carved into it. And yet...I haven't gotten to asking for someone to come and chop the tree down in the five years since I've lived here.
Once I got home I got straight down to business. I grabbed the blew-up photo of that willow tree and set it down next to my easel, with all the colors that I needed to my right. I dabbed my paintbrush into one of the colors and then let myself go.
I have had an affinity for art for probably my whole life. It wasn't until I was in my teens that I discovered my skill for art as well. Then when....problems began involving....her....art was what helped me get through it, what helped me cope.
So I suppose if there is one other thing I can admit to loving....it would be art.
The problem with me though is that once I get started on a canvas, I can't seem to stop...for anything. After two hours I began hearing my stomach growling very loudly, but I didn't stop. About a half an hour later Pepper began whimpering, finding that his food bowl was empty. After those sounds began irritating me I stopped painting to fill up his food bowl and grabbed a granola bar for me.
It was around....probably one in the morning and I was still working on the painting. I had it nearly done, working on a bit more shading here and there....when my doorbell rang. I ignored it at first, expecting it to be a couple of teens playing a round of ding-dong ditch. After all, who else would be outside. I doubt it even could've been teens considering it was pouring outside; the nice weather earlier today didn't last very long.
The ringing continued though. Now I was believing that I was dreaming and that I would wake up to see that I fell alseep right in my palette...again.
After the ringing had been still going on for five more minutes I decided to get up out of my chair with a grunt of irritation. I swung the door opened and hissed, "Hello?"
It was a woman, perhaps a couple years younger than me. She had curly black hair that ended at around the middle of her back and looked to be soaked through every layer of clothing she wore. But that wasn't unusual at all. The most unusual thing about her were her eyes; they were a vibrant shade of purple. I'm not kidding. Her eyes were purple.
"I-I'm sorry to disturb you," She could sense I was extremely angered, "But there was no one else awake around here and it's raining and I need somewhere to go."
"Then try the hotel." I began shutting my door, but she propped it open again, "I have no money."
"Then go to the Salvation army." And I managed the door shut.
Now you probably think that I'm a sick cruel person by leaving her out in the pouring cold rain, but to be honest there was something about her that I don't like. I mean, it was basically hate at first sight.