Murals Over Morals

The wall was blank now, white and empty. I had taken down every poster, every picture that hung there before, in preparation for the mural. I ran my hands over the plain white wall, as if saying goodbye to it. The painter would be here tomorrow, with all the supplies to start. I was also saying goodbye to privacy for the next few weeks. The mural would take up about two walls, starting with the wall next to my door. What my mother had in mind, was a dark twisted tree, creeping up beside my door, with doves flying out of the tree limbs, with orange and brown crunched leaves lying around the grass on the ground. The doves would be flying over towards the second wall, where happy looking, bright full of life trees awaited. It was supposed to signify my transition from depression, to happiness, since we had just moved into this town, my mom thought it was good idea. But, I had a different mural in mind, that I would talk to the painter about when he got here.

My mom said he was 39 years old, but he looked pretty young. She said he had fiery red hair, and pale skin, and hazel eyes. His name was Gerard Way. I figured his red hair was a statement about his art. I just hoped he didn't come in, splattering paint around the walls. I was kind of worried because I had never seen his work before, my mother said he was pretty underground. She said she thought I would like that.

I turned my back on the white wall, and climbed into my bed, with it's big fluffy, white, downy sheets. Even with all of this comfort, I still couldn't sleep at night. My insomnia kept me up all night long, and then I usually ended up snoozing the next day. I kept dark circles around my eyes, which was incredibly noticeable, since my skin was as white as snow. I frowned and rolled over on my side, and shut my eyes, and let all of my thoughts run together, as I just laid in silence.



“Her room is upstairs, Mr. Way.” I could hear my mom from downstairs, as I had my face shoved deep into my pillow. I wasn't ready for him to come here with his paints and brushes. I wanted to be left alone in silence, until my fatigue faded away. But, alas, I still heard his footsteps coming up the stairs, and then my door opening. I heard his light breathing as he sat his paint down and shut the door. I didn't move, or get up. I couldn't find the energy. I heard more footsteps, and the door opened again. “Oh? She's still asleep? Well, you can just start with the dead tree here by the door, and when she gets up she can tell you the rest. She's not sleeping, she's insomniac, she's probably just out of energy.”

I scrunched my eyes shut tighter, and kept my groan low in my voice. Way to go, mom, let's just tell the strange man all about me.

My mattress cushion started to sink down, and I frowned. Was he sitting on my bed? “Okay, I'll be sure not to be to loud, and I'll get started.” I was kind of surprised. His voice sounded so smooth, and beautiful. My mother shut the door again as she left and I sighed. I felt him twist, knowing he was turning to look at me. He heard my sigh.

After five minutes, I still didn't feel him get up. Was he just staring at me? I rolled over, and snuggled down into the sheets, feeling like his eyes were on me. Finally, I felt him get up and heard the paint cans opening. He started singing under his breath, and mine caught in my throat. His voice was gorgeous, and all I wanted was to look at this man's face, to see how beautiful he was, because surely he had to be handsome to have a voice like that. But I couldn't. I didn't even have enough energy to open my eyes.