Little Square Box Called Sanity

He was one of th ones sh was so oblivious to while in her own world. Although she had create her world full of twisting, twirling trees trying to capture the girl she was still tucked safely and securely and snug in the little White box of insanity, she had still to adventure out into the land of unknown, with vast amounts of nothing and bigger amounts of something. He knew the way to the nirvana she was searching for withought knowing. And he led her there, she thanked him withought thinking about her way back, on the way back she would miss the box completely and cascade into the spots of the mind no one should enter, her hair whipping her face harshly a the air resistance made it flap and flutter into a flame of jet black curls.  blinding her, strangling her and confusing her into a state of hysteria an hallucinations, dark shadows emerging from the ever-moving whirlwind of hair and making her scream out in confusion and pain. 
But of course, for all this to happen she has to realise him. She has to notice him for the first time. She has to leave the safety of the tiny square box and search for him. And this he did my accident. 
She usually stayed late as her art actually required skill, patience and time. She was painting on a rough canvas that gave her goosebumps as she ran her long elegant fingers across it, feeling the ridges and indents with the pads.  What she had painted was the porcelain White child, his eyes grey and piercing through your defences, his plump lips in a cute pout and blood spattered across his chalky White face, it wasn't finished, there was no background or any real emotion to it but she had to be home at six. She had to go around her mothers for tea and it was 4;00 way earlier than she would've ever even thought about leaving usually but she hadn seen he mother for 3 months. And she had started to moan. As she placed her piece on the drying rack she spotted a small pile of canvassed and scraps of paper mext to it. They all had the same face each in a different style, pose or expression on their face. As she leaned closer to them she realised they all had different mediums, paint, chalk, charcoal but the most prominent was pencil, probably drawn with a 2b and 4b graphite pure pencil on the one on the top. As Alice studied them yet closer, the tip of her nose almost scratching the surface she jumped back in realisation. She dd recognise them. Thu were her, it's not that they did t look like her, it's just that Alicia didnt look in th mirror much, and somewhat forgot her own appearance. But why were they of her? She knew it must have been someone from her class as it was from her class table. She shuffled through the art and try to find one with a signature or name on and She got right down to one of the bottom most ones, glancing at everyone for around a minute before finding one with a completely illegible signature on it. Not able to make out a single letter, let alone name after about half an hour she gave up. 
When she got home she only just remembered tea at her mums house in 10 minutes, sh had slowly trudged home and ha forotten about it. Her eyes bulged as her phone rang and her mums name came up imploring where she was, she answered it quickly apologising and making up excuses in a flurry while flying up the stairs and throwing on presentable clothes, explaining her art teacher desperately needed to talk to her about an art show (a complete lie, he would rather eat every single painting of hers than give her a precious art show) her mother bought it and asked hen she's be there. She replied with 'in just a minute'