I Feel New...
I've learned recently that my muse only comes out around the hours of anytime past 12 pm. See now this would make a lot of sense seeing as how i haven't really written a thing since I started working full time two years ago and need to be in bed before 12. But this hasn't been working for me. Writing isn't just a hobby, it's a way to express myself, I way to be the person I always wanted to be, a way to vent, say the things I'd normal be to shy to say in person. It's the whole me weather or not you can handle it. And I'm ready to embrace it and make myself known, again...
I thought I'd start with a little something me and my good friend and also author tiffany chin started together. It's not finished not even halfway and I don't know if it ever will be but... here it goes.
Janice Matthews stood in front of the lifelike portrait that had been painted only a handful of years ago. Two of the three faces on that portrait were smiling back at her. One of which was a constant reminder of how much she’s changed, not only on the outside, but on the inside.
The other smiling face belonged to the person she spent her entire life with, that one person who just somehow managed to win her heart, over all the rest. The one person who kept her lying awake at night, crying for hours and hours, until she could cry no more. The person she missed dearly each and every day since the divorce. But what pained her most was how genuinely happy she was, standing next to her husband, leaning into his warm embrace.
Then there was the boy. Who looked to be about ten at the time, standing just in front of his parents, leaning slightly more towards his mother, than his father. There was no smile on his face. His expression was simply emotionless. But he didn’t need an expression on his face, for his mother to understand what was bothering him. She could read him like a book, always had, and always would.
The portrait was proudly hung up above the sofa, facing the door, for everyone who entered the Matthews home, to see. Her husband always wanted to brag about his perfect family to his neighbors, friends, co workers, anyone who would lend him there ear. There family wasn’t perfect though, far from it actually.
Janice just stood motionless, staring at the painting, wondering if things could ever be like they once were. But life wasn’t perfect, not for any of them. She reached out her hand, and gently bushed it against the boy’s expressionless face. She stared at him in the portrait, remembering every scar, mark, bump and scratch that he had gotten at the time the portrait had been painted.
“Honey, I know you’re going to be angry with me, but he’s changed, and I think you owe it to him to give it a chance, not for me, but for yourself. He’s changed, but most of all, he loves you.” She didn’t bother to wipe the tears from her eyes. They were so frequent ever since she made the arrangements.
She knew exactly what her son’s response would be, and that made her pain and anxiety that much worse.