Pieces Of Literature ❤

Art

She loved the pretty monochromatic colors on the canvas she had just finished painting. Paint covered all over her fingers it was all dry. Sweat dripping down her forehead she used her arm to wipe the sweat away. She felt accomplished in her new piece letting it dry for a while. Her mother used to love to paint until the house fire they had took her mother's life. She lived with her father who claimed her after her mom died. She hated him for leaving her mother though he was rich. She had always got everything she asked for whether it be canvas or paint or paint brushes. She had hundreds of paint brushes and hundreds of different colors except she always painted in monochromatic colors. It was her style of painting, she loved it so much, and she hung most of the paintings in her room. Her father also put up some of the paintings in the house. That was his reward for her paintings she did not mind the fact that he displayed her art. Though she had a really bad mental illness that her father did not notice or really did not care about. She constantly told him that she needed to see someone to talk to something about her mental illness. Her mental illness was her depression. She was always sad when she was not painting, coloring, or drawing. People also bullied her for liking art, being herself, and other things like her clothes. She began to cut herself lightly on the wrists or arms painting with her blood or incorporating it into her paints. The bullying got worse, her father was not getting the help she kept requesting, she covered up her whole body, and that included her wrists. The guidance counselors at her school took it as a joke. Nobody listened to her and her mental state deteriorated. She cut herself deeper and deeper each day. Adding cuts to her body other than her wrists like her arms, her stomach, and her legs. She was barely holding on to life and she was always miserable. Her father finally got her help and got her medicine though she took it she could feel no emotions at all. She felt like a ghost drifting in the wind. Her skin got super pale, bags began to form around her eyes, and she started to starve herself. She just wanted to be normal yet she could not be normal. Nor would she ever be considered normal to anyone surrounding her. She had no friends either to vent to or speak with or to help her. She gave up she cut herself drawing her last masterpiece before she grabbed a rope. She tied it into the shape of a noose and stepped on the chair. She inserted her head into the noose, kicked the chair out from under her, and she immediately died. 

All she wanted was to be normal

To be loved by her father and do things with him

To be able to have a friend

Yet she received none of what she had hoped for

And on the suicide note it said

No one needs me