Another day. Another boring class. You open your mouth wide in a yawn before peering back down at your sketchbook.

It was math, and the human teacher really didn’t give a damn if you paid attention or not. Just do your work and turn it in at the end of the day and don’t disturb him reading the dirty mags he lazily hides in books that are probably way too advanced of a reading level for him.

You’d think the school so obsessed with a positive reputation would do more to curb creeps like him, yet he remains, and has remained for years apparently.

Though, he hasn’t really creeped on any of the kids, that you know of, and keeps it to himself so you along with the rest of the kids ignore it.

It gave you free time to work on your finalized sketch at least. This is probably the longest you’ve spent on a sketch.

It was for a competition after all.

You had drawn two that you liked.

One that was a carbon copy of the photo you found the day you got your hands on that first photo album, and one in the park that was more original though you never got to finish it.

Mulling over it for a few days you had decided on the former sketch.

It’d just be easier, and it was already a really good photo.

You were just coming up with a final version now. Getting the anatomy and proportions JUST right to make sure you didn’t fuck up. Though with the time you’ve already spent on it you were really REALLY itching to just hurry up and get it over with.

Several days is probably WAY too long for you, BUT it had to be perfect for the judges.

The painting needed to basically be a Rembrandt so that you could win and really shove it into the face of your loathsome sister.

A sigh of air left your nostrils and you dropped your head.

No...no thinking about her. Take that anger and turn it into passion Amber. You needed to take more control.

You lifted your head up and closed your eyes, meditating on the moment.

With a deep breath you open your eyes and ready your self to add the finishing touches on your sketch.

*BING BONG DING DONG*

Shit.

It’ll have to be done during lunch you guess. You stand up, grab your things and turn in your ten question assignment before making your way to the cafeteria.

…

“Alright.”

Sera stops gnawing on her apple and looks up expectantly at you.

You fill in the final bits of shading and hand it over to your friend sitting across from you.

She takes the paper in her hands and squints, expecting the drawing carefully. ”Damn girl, I don’t know how you do it. This is great!”

She hands the paper back to you.

“A-are you sure?” You stammer out.

“Nothing wrong with the proportions or the anatomy or…”

Sera waves her hand as she chews on the next bite of her apple.

”Amby, it’s fine. More than fine actually. It’s perfect as is. If there were anything wrong with it only an art snob would be able to notice, and if they have a problem with it they could go fuck themselves.”

You roll your eyes. “Sera! It’s more than that. A few of the judges WILL be ‘art snobs’! Half the damn panel is in the art department.”

You look over your sketch, inspecting it in a timid anxiety. “I need this to be better than my usual stuff if it’s gonna win.”

Sera scoffs, letting her apple core drop to the table. “Amby...your ‘usual stuff’ is amazing. And you’re one of the best artists in the school. The other contestants are probably PISSING themselves knowing YOU are going to be competing.”

You look at Sera and then back down at your drawing again. “I just don’t know. I’ve always done art because it was just a passion. Something I did out of my own enjoyment. I never really entered any contests like this before.”

”Then drop out of it.” Sera shrugs.

“I can’t!”

”Oh yea? And why not?” The triceratops crosses her arms and looks at you with an eye brow raised.

You open your mouth to speak but no words come out, so you resign to glare at her.

“Amber, you and me BOTH know why you’re doing this. I meant it when I said I’m behind you one hundred percent but I also KNOW you. If this thing is too much for you, DON’T DO IT! The competition means nothing! What’s the prize for first place anyways?”

You ponder her question for a minute, trying to remember exactly WHAT that prize was.

“Uhhhh…”

”Mhmm, that’s what I thought.”

“Well, it’s not ABOUT the prize Sera!”

”I know! It’s about CYNTHIA!”

“Guhhh!”

You groan, throwing your hands up into the sky before burying your face in them.

You feel a hand on your arm and glare through your fingers at the purple dino across from you. A helpful smile painted on her face.

”Her opinion on ANYTHING doesn’t matter. You shouldn’t have to go through and stress over a competition YOU don’t want to.”

You flick her hand away and place your hands at your sides.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath in. Exhaling, you change your tone.

“Sera...I love you. You’re an amazing friend. And I really, REALLY appreciate you looking out for me when you think I need it. But…”

You open your eyes and give Sera a very serious glare.
“I NEED to do this. I WANT to do this. My stress be damned. I’d need to learn to get over it anyway if I want to make a career out of this right? So...I’m going through with this, whether you like it or not.”

Sera shakes her head in disappointment and snout palms. Taking another exhausted look at you she finally sighs and capitulates to your demands.

”Alright. Do what you want Amber. I’ll be behind you every step of the way like I said. Just don’t stress your self out over it TOO much ok?”

“I won’t.”

”Good.”

*bing-bong ding-dong*

At the sound of the bell the volume of the cafeteria increased by a few decibels as students finished up their conversations and threw their trays away.

Getting up from her own seat Sera begins to walk away with her tray, stopping for a moment to look back towards you. ”And your drawing is great by the way. It’d look better on a canvas though.”

…

You slip on your apron and grab everything you need.

Paints. Check.
Water. Check.
Brushes. Check.
Easel with sketch. Check.
Various photo references including the original photo. Check.
Yep! Everything was ready.

And now it was time to paint.

You stare at the canvas.

...The time was now.

You were gonna paint.

Now.

Just dip your brush in and go.

Yep.

That’s all it took.

You just had to start.

Yep. Starting.

The beginning.

You were ready. You could begin.

You could initiate the process of dipping your brush into oil based hues and smear them across the canvas so that an image maybe-
“Fuhhhhhh...I’m stuck.”

You throw your apron off and flop onto your bed.

Artblock...

How?

HOW?!

You were so ready!

You did everything right up to this point! You found out WHAT you wanted to paint. You found the reference you wanted. You drew up a sketch you liked. You finished a final product and showed it to your friend and got what was basically a double thumbs up. You even had everything in place. You just had to put brush to canvas.
You’ve done this process a million times! Why, WHY NOW are you having a block!?

“Guhhhhhh!” You slap your hands into your face and drag them down your snoot.

You tilt your head over from where you lie and lackadaisically stare at your empty canvas. It stared back mockingly, taunting you quietly how it’s surface would remain free from color.

An ugly beige it would remain, it’s only scars were scratches of graphite that outlined a visage of your mother.

Maybe it wasn’t art block.

You had been working hard for the last couple of days. The painting and the contest were the only things you would think about while awake. Hell you had a dream or two about it.

Maybe all of this was your brain telling you, “HEY! LIL’ MISS PTERODACTYL! CAN I HAVE A FUCKING BREAK?! You’ve been forcing me to be creative for the past fucking week and a half!”

Maybe it was right. Maybe a break is what you needed. If only to recollect your thoughts. You didn’t want to stare at the canvas anymore, you explore your room for something else to put your eyes on. Any thing. Anything to take your mind off of you doing art at all.

The walls...which you painted your self. Pass.

Your curtains...which you’ve ALSO tie die’d your self. Nope.

Your lamp? Nah, you sewed the shade.

Your desk...which you’ve carved intricate designs int-

“Guh! Is there a single thing in here I didn’t make?” You shout, slamming your fists into the mattress.

You glance over at the photo album that still laid on your desk.

Hm.

Well, you didn’t REALLY get a chance to look through all the photos did you?

At the very least it was something to distract yourself from having to be creative every moment you were awake. You reach over and grab the heavy book from your night stand and shift your self so that your back was leaning against the head frame of your bed.

Getting your self into a cozy position you take a quick breath in and out to clear your mind a bit and open the photo album. You’d start with the first page you supposed. Get an actual look at them.

The first few images were the ones you’ve seen before.

Younger Ms. Trish.

Younger Reed.

A few with Stella and Aunt Rosa in the background. Even one or two with Uncle Naser and...some Parasaur girl you didn’t recognize.

You eventually find the pictures of your dad again.

The photos of him laughing. Or being annoyed. These photos seemed to be from before him and your mom dated.

Hm. You wondered how they got together.

It was never a story you never really felt the need to ask.

Your whole life up to this point Stella had been your mom, and while you’d ask questions here and there nothing really MADE you want to know who this woman who shared half your DNA was.

Up next were the photos of just your mom and dad.

Photos involving Ms. Trish and Reed began to thin out and photos of your parents began to turn from more casual to more...romantic.

Eugh.

Gross.

Pictures of dates, turned into pictures of prom, into pictures of whenever mom would visit dad in college.

Both of them were beginning to turn into the images you associated them with today as their faces got older and outfits changed. Dad would stop wearing literally the same outfit in every photograph and actually have a variety of different things to wear.

Same for your mother. She slowly fazed out of her punk rock get up and start to wear clothes that looked more ‘adult’ looking.

This went on for a while until.

Is...was that her crying?

Glancing over the other photos for context you finally deciphered what she was tearing up about.

A pregnancy test. Two pink lines.

It was only now when you realized how quiet your house was, the only noise in the house coming from AC. You shift yourself and bring the album closer to your face.

The bizzare feelings you felt when you first opened this thing with Sera crept back in a bit.

You flipped over to the next page.

A baby shower. A whole bunch of gifts and family and other faces you recognize were all there.

Next was one of those gender reveal parties that used to be big back in the day. A balloon that said “pop me” was in-between your parents who were both holding the same needle in their hands. The next photo was them covered in pink glitter. Mom embraced dad with a look of excitement and pure joy, dad meanwhile dad looked at the camera with a more crestfallen look.

Heh. The distressed thoughts he must’ve had when he realized he was going to be the only guy in the house seemed to really irk him.

Not much has changed had it old man?

You noticed that you were beginning to get to the end of the book, so the next few photos you really drank in.

The baby bump would grow larger with every picture.

The photos would vary from exhaustion, to annoyance, to excitement and every other emotion that must’ve come from being pregnant.

Then there was the last page.

There was a message at the top scrawled in what was unmistakably your dad’s hand writing.

”One more month before we get to meet her!”

One photo, centered in the page. It was just of your mom sitting in a beach chair with the sunset behind her.

A content smile on her face with her hands on her stomach, almost as if she were trying to hold you, as if you could’ve been closer to her than you already were in that picture.

It...well it was, it felt weird. Or was it weird?

You didn’t know.

There was some more writing underneath the photo, you had to bring it up closer to read, your vision was getting fuzzy for some reason.

It was only four words but it was in fucking cursive. Probably your mom’s hand writing.

You squint your eyes to see past what ever was obstructing your vision.

”Amber, I can’t wait to see you.”

The tears were finally heavy enough to fall from your eyes and splash onto the page.

Your breath hitches and you sniff, bringing up and arm to wipe away the grief that now filled your eyes.

Fuck. This wasn’t how you were supposed to relax.

You keep the book in your hands and stare at that final photo for a few moments longer, the tragedy of those words digging deep into your heart as you try your best to contain yourself.

Your fingers softly drift across the photo several times, desperately trying to find a way to embrace this woman you’ve never met.

knock knock knock

OH SHIT!

You shut the album and shove it under your pillow.
“Y-yea! Come in!”

Your door knob turns and your dad peeks his head in through the door.

”Hey, it’s almost time for...Amber?”

You stare at your dad from your bed, trying your best to look as normal as possible. The wide eyes and piercing stare of shock probably wasn’t helping you though.

“Uh...yea? What’s up dad?”

Your father cautiously takes a few more steps into your room.

”Sweet tooth, are...are you doing ok?”

You nod your head.

“Yep! Mhm, I’m fine, no problems in here. Why?”

The human shifts nervously, “Well your eyes are red. Are you sure you’re ok? Is there anything you wanna talk about?”

“What? Oh, these? Pff, nah I’m fine it’s just...just uhhh, artists eye! Yep! It’s when you get into the zone you know? You’re so focused on getting the details right on a project and your forget to blink. Or something like that. Yep!”

You give your dad an innocent smile, hoping he buys the bullshit your pushing through your teeth.

The look of worry doesn’t leave his face though. He looks you up and down, anxiously inspecting you from head to toe. ”Well...ok then. I guess. Anyways, it’s time to wash up, your mother is almost done with dinner.”

“Oki-dokie daddy! I’ll be out there in a minute!”

You give him the widest possible grin you could, giving him a thumbs up in the process.

He turns to leave, quickly looking over you one last time before shutting the door behind him. With that awkward confrontation out of the way you cringe and bury your head into your knees.

Did that REALLY have to happen?

Now dad was probably going to try and pry into why you were crying. There is no way in HELL he bought that fucking ‘artist eyes’ excuse.

The man’s a fucking audio engineer, he works with artists on a daily fucking basis.

You also still had make up on. Oh fuck, was your mascara runny?

You slam your head back into your pillow, colliding with something solid underneath it.

“Ow! Geez.”

Oh yea, the album. Rubbing your crest you pull the book from underneath your pillow and look it over. You mull over what to do with it for a moment before opting to just throw it into your desk drawer for the time being.

 

Emotional train wreck dealt with, you make your way to the bath room to wash your hands and clean up any mascara that may have gotten ruined before meeting your family for dinner.

Now you REALLY needed a fucking break.

[POST-NOTES]
Hey! Thanks everyone for the comments and kudos! It's been a while since I've written anything and it's great to see people enjoy my stuff. Hope you enjoy this next chapter and the direction I will inevitably go with it. Happy Fang Friday everyone.