Silence filled the room as I glared at Mr. Mcgarthy. I look to my right to still see the picture of his ex wife sitting on to of his desk. Why does he still have that ohtot of her? Pathetic. Is he still not over her? It's been two years. I don't understand Mr.Mcgarthy sometimes.
"Now I'm going to show you a series of paintings. And you are going to tell me what they represent to you."
"Aren't those called inkblots?"
"Hm. I guess you could say they are."
He pulls out a small painting. It's a girl. Not too many colors were used in his painting.
"Now, what Does this painting represent to you?"
"..."
"It represents loneliness, and the need for affection."
"Hm? Why do you say that?"
"The girl is all alone in the painting..."
"Mr.Mcgarthy I have a question."
"What is your question Victoria?"
"Do people like being alone?"
"Hm. I don't know Victoria.."
"..."
"Do you like being alone Victoria?"
"I don't know."
YOU ARE READING
Creation, Questions, Destruction.
General FictionI have questions. That need many answers.
