The tragedy of August 29, 2007

The truth. Yeah, everyone might be willing to hear my version of the story. They're probably intrigued of what I might be feeling, and why I had gone awfully quiet throughout the day.

But you wouldn't understand. To an artist, each artwork is the result of effort and hard work. Each piece symbolizes what the artist had been feeling while she made the art. In other words, whatever paper it was drawn on, it is still a part of the artist's soul.

My eyes grew large in terror as he started tugging my two works from where I was concealing them-underneath my notebook and bible. I had no intention of drawing, really. I was just looking at them before he came in. I didn't have time to put it back to where it should be, because he had said it himself-do not put your hands under the table. In fact, I still listened and took down notes on what he was saying in front. The smallest mistake was when I carefully and lovingly darkened a line with my pencil (I was supposed to design my notebook with it, so I had the pencil for a good reason).

It happened so fast. Before I knew it my two most precious masterpieces were a bit crumpled in between his fingers, raised so high for everyone in the class to see. He asked me what they were, and I answered truthfully. He didn't believe me. With a menacing smile he read the 3 names to countdown. Kael'thas, Maiev, Anub'arak...My hands trembled and sweat poured down my face, as I stared at him open mouthed, in a horrible realization of what he was going to do. Lips still curved in a malicious grin, he ripped them apart before my eyes.

It took quite a while for the reality to settle in. I couldn't believe it. My artworks...my efforts...all one in a few rips.

Then everything was back to normal again, as if no murder had taken place. But my soul was hollow. I let my body run on auto-pilot; I was hardly listening now, and I don't remember writing down anything. For in my ears, I could still hear the distinct tearing of paper.

I didn't eat or do anything of importance the rest of the day. The emptiness I was feeling made me forget about my appetite, and there was a bad taste in my mouth. I kept on repeating to my self that I could make another copy of those artworks. Or I could ask for the pieces and tape them together. But nothing would ever be the same. And besides, I couldn't draw after that. The shock left my hands numb and weak, and I couldn't think of anything at all.

That destroyed my enthusiasm on the subject. I don't think I can sit through a whole period anymore. It's all tainted now, and the respect I had for him was gone. How can I admire someone who tore up a part of my soul?

Everything is only a painful remembrance of what occured, and the things lost.

Nothing will change that.

I am SO not emo!

I just look the like. XD

It's been such a long time since I've last posted here. I got too laze, then I forgot my own password, and then....

boom. X_X

So, like my friends, I shall say random stuff! WAHAHA!

asdfhjkl;sadfjlksdjf;sldkjlkxvlk!!!

O.o

Uh. Okay. Nevermind.