We're Going To Be Okay #JustWriteIt

One Plan

"What kind of world do you dream of, Anna?" I ask the little girl sitting next to me.

"Some place where everyone is smiling. I don't like seeing people cry." She replies earnestly, her turquoise eyes shining.

Her words immediately bring a frown to my face, but I immediately turn it around for the sake of the 7 year old sitting next to me. How cruel her fate was. She hated seeing tears flow down people's cheeks and yet she had no choice but to live in a place where at every other step somebody was sobbing their heart out on another's shoulder.

I put on my brightest smile for the little girl and watch her draw some stick figures with her crayons. The stick figures are all yellow and purple but I don't think she minds. The tip of her tongue is sticking out of her pale pink lips. I can't help but chuckle at her innocence. Her tongue is always sticking out when she's drawing. She never even realises it.

I pinch her cheeks, feeling the cold in them prick my fingers. Her skin is pale and ghostly, whiter than the sheets upon which she is drawing her purple people.

The sadness washes over me like a large wave on the beach side. How I wish I could blow some warmth into her cold, cold skin and infuse it with some colour. If only I could paint her cheeks rosy like I coloured my canvas.

"Hey Abby," A voice brings me back to the unfair and unhappy place called Earth.

I look up to see Daniel sitting with a small boy on his lap pushing a sheet towards me. The sheet of paper was a victim of an explosion of colours.

I chuckle at the beauty in its chaos and my eyes meet the coffee eyes of the kid in Daniel's lap and I ask,

"And who made this masterpiece?"

The boy's coppery skin immediately flushes and he looks down at the table.

"Drew thinks I'm lying when I saw it's a pretty painting. So I told him that maybe he shouldn't trust my judgement. After all I am no artist. But then if an artist like Abigail Welling thinks something is pretty, then we can trust her skilled eyes to tell us the truth, right, Drew? And now that our trusted artist Abigail Welling just called our painting 'a masterpiece', I think we can rest assured that it is a pretty painting." Daniel says.

"Doesn't he sound like an idiot when he talks like that?" I ask Drew, who giggles in reply.

"Don't listen to her, Drew, she's a mean person. We only talk to her when we need critique for our work." Daniel whispers conspiratorially in Drew's ears, but it's loud enough for me to hear.

"What's 'critique'?" The kid sitting next to Daniel asks while at the same time, Anna, who is sitting next to me protests, "Abigail is not mean! She's nice!"

"Awww." I coo, giving Anna a sideways hug.

"And Joseph, by 'critique' Daniel means that I tell him and Drew how good or bad their paintings are. And technically, Daniel," I turn to my idiotic boyfriend to address him, "these aren't paintings. They're just colourings or drawings. You don't see any paints and brushes here, do you?"

"See there, Anna, she is mean. Look who rudely she's talking to me right now." Daniel kiddishly pouts at Anna.

"Abigail is not mean. You're stupid. Nobody is painting here." Anna replies nonchalantly.

I burst out laughing at that, earning curious stares from everybody in this room. I look down at my shoes to avoid their stares, blushing furiously.