The Click

Eunice looked at that blank white canvas for the last three weeks.

Her professor always says "paint what you know" but what does she know at 22? After 22 years of living, it seems she hasn't learned anything that would be beneficial.
So she had this feeling that everyone else at that age must be faking it as well. Faking maturity, and faking having it all together when they're just like her, still trying to understand this world they've all been put.

She had hope though, hope that it'll all make some sense, the click she was desperately looking for.

Fate had already arranged that a day like that will come. That day was rainy Tuesday. As soon as she picked up the brush and put some blue paint on the bristles, her hands started to shake from the anxiety of making a mistake like every single time she tried.

Then there was a shift in the way she looked at the situation. It was like she had been trying to push open a door for so long, that she finally realised it was meant to pull instead of being pushed.

Her hand was moving before her brain could understand what she was even doing.

She saw that blue became something entirely different from what she thought it was. Blue looked like the colour of her grandmother's last breath before she passed away, if breath had a colour. Yellow did not mean sunlight, it is the deception of someone being okay when you asked them how they were doing. Red was the colour that came out when you were not angry but wanted to show someone that you were angry.

Two hours later and when she looked at the piece she had come up with on the canvas, it looked alive in a way that it had never looked before. It may not have looked good in some aspects, but she knew this was her own creation.

She laughed and then she cried and laughed at the same time. What a troubled young girl.

From then on painting became a completely different experience for her. The world now had all these new colours and shadows that she had never seen before, not the colors themselves but what they now meant to her. That is how she found her skill, by using colors not based on beauty and skill, but based on what they meant.

She had almost completely quit painting prior to that shift in perception. Prior to that event, Eunice only had two days left before she completely packed away her painting materials. Without that click, it would have been another dream buried away.

Was she resilient or did she only get saved by the click, because she could have quit?

Written by me

• Story thumbnail designed by me using Canvas

_{Posted using SteemX}