The Lying Eyes
Author: MadKilljoy

Chapter 8
Dreams, Paintings and Beliefs

I stumbled through the grey woods, pushing branches out of the way of my face. What am I doing here? I asked myself. A feeling began to rise inside me, it was like panic, or like a feeling of frantily looking from something. My pace picked up and soon I was dashing through the woods, I was panting, gasping for breath, but I couldn't stop.

I wasn't trying to move branches out of the way anymore, the branches now just scraped across my skin, leaving a burning sensation followed by blood. My hair was becoming tangled in branches and my feet were numb, but I wouldn't stop.

And then it hit me, I stopped dead. What am I doing, I asked myself, why am I here? I leaned against a tree for support and caught my breath. I began to rake my hands through my hair, hoping to smooth it so I didn't look like a wild animal, I'm insane, I told myself.

I sat on the ground, placing my back against the tree and resting my head on my knees. The denim of my jeans was faded and worn, I remembered when my mother told me that people used to buy jeans that were torn and faded. They used money to buy old jeans, no wonder the nation had crashed.

"What am I doing?" I wondered out loud, my voice only a whisper.

"Well I think you were looking for me." My  head jerked up, alert at once, and I was on my feet backing away. I really did feel like an animal now, with my defensive stance and the danger that I could tell that lurked in my eyes. I had always been slightly ashamed of that edgy look in my eyes, but at the same time, amazed.

He gave the half smile that he had given last time, the smile that I had seen every time my eyes were closed. But at the moment, my eyes were narrowed, my confused feelings pushed aside. He was danger, he could kill people, he probably has killed people, I thought.


I woke up in a cold sweat, I had fallen asleep with his jacket on and my hair was a mess again. It was early, I still had a few hours before the sun came up, but I knew I wouldn't be able to fall back asleep. I dressed in loose pants and a red shirt covered in paint. Painting was something I did to clear my head; when I painted I focused on nothing but the picture.


I pulled the box of paints from under my bed and that's when I realized that I had gotten lucky, it didn't seem like she noticed the jacket last night. I folded it slowly, remembering the conversation, and then remembering the warning my mom gave me. I slid the jacket to the back corner, but I knew I'd be wearing it again soon.


I pushed all the thoughts out of my head and closed my eyes, I let the colors flow onto the canvas, seeing only the fine lines and curves made with every brush stroke. I stepped back after an hour or two had passed and observed the paining. It was a field, a field of blue flowers, and in the distance was a hill, where a weeping willow tree sat on top. I let out a slow breath, remembering the countless times my father had taken me to that exact spot. My bedroom door opened, the second she saw my painting she gave a sad smile, she was reminded of him too.


"I'm going to the market," She hesitated, "stay in the house." she finished. When she closed the door, I let my brush fall to the floor. Anger took over every thought, every memory. I knew exactly what she was doing, the house I loved was now my prison. She was keeping me here from no on, I no longer had free roam. She was keeping me from my kind, the only people I ever wanted to be around. Does she know what I am?


I drew my curtain aside and looked down onto the street and its occupants. Her words echoed inside. Don't forget what you believe in.


"Don't worry," I whispered to myself, "I won't."


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