Ib: Another Dream

Chapter 6

Viola and Ellen walked beside me as we headed for the last lesson of the day. I honestly had no clue if it was wise to flee or run now.

"Yo Ib, what's up with you? I know that you had a bad day and everything, but why are you shaking now?" Ellen demanded. She pouted at me when I didn't answer. I just continued to hold an arm around myself, while walking with my eyes firmly focused on ground.

Ellen continued to analyse my behavior. The pout swiftly transformed to a mocking grin with a realisation.

"Don't tell me you are like this because you are scared of something now!"

I nearly stopped in my tracks and just wanted to run away already. I can't believe I was still so sensitive about this after all of these years of coping with it.

"Wait, you actually are? What is so scary that you ,out of all people, would whimper for?"

"Ellen that is enough." Viola intervened before it could get any worse. She pushed Ellen, gently, back beside her, so she wasn't standing next to me. " It's none of your buisness, she will tell you when she wants too. Stop treating everything as a game."

I winced when Ellen suddenly stopped and kicked the wall angrily.

"Viola what the hell!? Recentely you have been acting so cold towards me. What did I do to make you so mad? You weren't like this a week before the summer holidays!"

"I told you, nothing happened. Can't I even rightfully help a friend of mine from an uncomfortable situation?" I noted that her tone actually did sound as if she was challenging Ellen. I wonder what happened to them..

Viola glanced to Ellen, who now resorted to pouting. She sighed at her expression. "Anyway, let's go in already or we will get marked down as late."

My heart stopped. Since when did we arrive already?

Before I could say any refusal, close my eyes or even breath in deeply, I was already dragged in. The sight of the room made me nearly vomit.

It was, technically, a completely normal art room. Crude drawings done by primary children are hung on the walls in a clustered bunch. The other ones with more skill and creativity are hung by the teacher's desk or black board. Tables filled with clay figures are positioned right under the window in order for them to dry more easily. Utensils are all nearly placed on the tables and the whole room itself was filled with colors and energy.

To me however, this was the definition of hell.

I used to love drawing. I used to, in fact, believe that I would become a much better artist than Da Vinci or Picasso and make my parents proud. That all changed on the day I went to the one time event Gallary that I requested to visit for my birthday.

As a child back then, I didn't exactly understood what was going on. I thought everything might have been a dream, that this was just a nightmare that occurred since I couldn't stop being excited about the exhibition. But once I remembered, everything came drifting back to my mind.

To me, every single painting and sculpture became a potential enemy, a memory of horror and violence that should have been best forgotten to a 9 year old. Digital pictures and art utensils were fine to me. I concluded that the fact that a human drew and took part in the creations of those beings directly was one of the main reasons of my fear.

I never took part in any artistic event after that ever again. My mom had to give up her dream, that was once mine as well, for my health. That however didn't stop me from "killing" the monsters hidden behind unmoving paper. We had to move away because of me. Now however, I should be fine after years of recovery and help from the people around me.