starc@t

art student gothic

julesreblogging:

You finish the last page of your sketchbook. You turn the page. There are at least five pages left. Unfilled sketchbooks surround you.

“Is that anime” someone behind you asks. You put down your stick of charcoal. You are in a life drawing class. The person behind you isn’t supposed to be here.

“I wish I could draw!” someone tells you. You give them a withering stare. They do not know what they wish for. You haven’t slept in four years.

No matter how many times you wash your hands, they are still covered in oil paint. You don’t use oils. You don’t remember the last time you used oil paint.

You are drawing in your sketchbook. Someone grabs it while they ask if they can see it. As the sketchbook leaves your hands the piece of your soul that you put in it dies.

Your classes are either at 7 in the morning or 7 at night. There is no in between. Part of you wonders if there is even a point in leaving the art building after your evening class. You’ll be back in less than a few hours anyways.

Nobody calls the art professors by their last names. When you ask what their last names are they tell you to just call them by their first names. You check your class schedule. No last names are listed.

Your roommate asks if you can do a drawing for their biology project. You ask if it’s paid. They look confused. “It will be easy,” they tell you. “You’re so talented.” You haven’t left your room in four days. Your eyes and hands ache from working. You tell them no, and they leave, annoyed.

• date

  Thursday, week 20

  18 May, 2017

• by

  origin elijahreblogs

  via nekonekonomi