" Art is something we do, a verb. Art is an expression of our thoughts, emotions, intuitions and desires, but it is even more personal than that: it's about sharing the way we experience the world, which for many is an extension of personality "
Morgan couldn't remember where she first heard that quote, maybe it was on the internet and she had screen shotted it, but she agreed wholeheartedly. Art was an extension of personality. She was known for doing art, because art was a part of her that even she couldn't explain fully. The part of her personality that came out through paintings and pencil sketches and drawings. Designs and artistic quotes on a piece of paper, in a sketchbook or doodled in her class books. Art. Art that was the purest form of her soul.
Unfortunately, Art was not a main part of the curriculum and in secondary school all she received was one unfulfilling lesson with her idiotic form class each week. It didn't help that her art teacher didn't like her - the Irish woman had been offended when Morgan had corrected her proportions back in Year 7. The class had sniggered while she got told off. Year 7 had passed on and it came swiftly to the next year, were she was thankfully free of the hateful teacher.
Until they had come full circle in Year 10 and Morgan had her again.
Her art skills had dramatically increased (but by no fault of the teaching) to the point where she was working on a piece practically 24/7 rather than revising for that science exam in three weeks time.
Thankfully there was now only one person from her form left (an obnoxious, arrogant boy named "Oliver"), the others had been weeded out by the Year 9 Options, tempted by other, less interesting subjects like Business Studies and Triple science. What had been a reckless class of maniacs had now been narrowed down to a small class of 10 pupils, with the Irish teacher who despised her lurking around the classroom at all times. Obviously she hated Oliver as well, because she paired Morgan up with him for a group project.
As much as she wanted to hate the talkative bastard, he was very good. His proportions rivalled hers in a way she had never experienced and she loved it. Their theme for the piece was being in two places at once, his idea. And extremely ironic on Morgan's behalf.
The other half, the other half of her. She had looked it all up - being in two places at once. Bilocation, they called it. A thing for superhero fanatics and fantasy character generators, not in real life. Especially when it was a teenage girl - she didn't want to be Peter Parker or Clark Kent! She didn't want this...although it was useful. Splitting herself into two meant that while one of her was attending school, the other could be watching Netflix.
Or, as Morgan had figured out, one of her could be doing art all day. One could have a different identity - there were so many possibilities. She could become a superhero....but in reality she would rather just do art and have silly, stupid conversations about Harry Potter and Star Wars with Oliver.
That was until an extremely well-dressed man called Colonel Scott Riggins arrived in her art class one day and with a frown asked, "Morgan Lester?"
