Status: In Progress
Graffiti
Chapter One
Chapter One
Natasha Daniels
“Graffiti is not about clean lines, pretty colors and beautiful blends. Graffiti is my life's turbulence exploded on a wall.”
~Mint Serf
Dipping my brush into the pallette of paint, I moved my brush to the canvas on my lap, smiling lightly at my work.
The smile was wiped off my face when I heard my uncle calling my name.
“Natasha! Do your chores, you worthless brat!” He shouted, causing me to cringe before I let a light sigh escape my lips.
“Coming, Uncle Drew!” I called back.
Setting aside my paint and brush, I quickly climbed to my feet and bolted downstairs, walking past my uncle, who was peeking out from the door of his office.
His beady brown eyes glared at me, framed by dark brown hair on his pudgy face. He was short, and rude, which explains why he wasn’t married.
Not meeting his eyes, I walked into the kitchen to start with the dishes.
I spent the rest of the afternoon, which turned out to be about five hours, doing chores and jobs around the large house that my uncle and I lived in.
Ever since my parents had died in a car accident, I had been forced to live with Uncle Drew, it had been five years so far, I was nine when my parents died, and now, fourteen, I was quiet and anti-social, wary of people and new places, which didn’t offer me a lot of friends.
My uncle would try to get me to go and socialize, actually talk to people, but, I was much more content with just painting.
He hated that. Then again, what didn’t my uncle hate?
He hated everything, including me, which always made me wonder why he actually took me in after my parents died.
It is hard to believe he even has any goodness in his heart.
Walking back inside, I felt like something was amiss, and, hearing footsteps upstairs, I couldn’t help but wonder what my uncle was up to.
“Uncle Drew?” I called lightly, walking up the steps.
When I got no response, I frowned, a frown which deepened when I realized the noise was coming from my room.
“Uncle, what are you...?” I stopped talking as I stepped into the room, seeing my uncle seemingly taking all my paint supplies.
I was speechless for a moment, as my uncle looked up at me.
“What... w-what are you doing?” I questioned slowly, causing my uncle to frown at me, picking up the painting of the dove I had been working on before my chores.
“What does it look like I’m doing? You’ll be doing no more painting until you do something with yourself, I won’t have you turning out to be a little priss like your mother.” He spat.
My fists clenched at my sides.
“Don’t you dare insult her.” I growled lowly, causing my uncle to scoff.
“Please, my sister was nothing but worthless, same with the man she married. I’m raising you now, you live under my roof, so I have no option but to make sure you don’t turn out like them.” He told me, causing me to walk right up to him, staring him down.
“Say that one more time.” I dared him, looking down at him since the man was shorter then me, and, for the first time, looked intimidated by me.
I was usually calm, and passive, but, insult my parents and you’ll get it.
Seemingly getting a burst of sudden bravery, my uncle straightened up, though, that added nothing to his height.
“I said; you won’t end up being a loser like your parents.”
Within seconds, I had grabbed my uncle by the collar and slammed him against the wall, growling as I slammed his head back.
“If anyone in my family is a loser, Uncle Drew, it’s you.” I snarled, and, with that, I slammed his head back, causing him to lose consciousness as I let him drop to the ground.
Shaking my head, I grabbed the small canvases off the ground, and, grabbing my laptop bag, I placed them inside, along with my laptop and cord, and my paint supplies, paints, brushes, and my pallette, before pulling the strap over my shoulder.
I wouldn’t stay here with this man anymore. I could stand him for only a certain ammount of time and, when he takes away my paints, something my parents taught me, shit gets real.
“Goodbye, Uncle Drew, I wont be seeing you around.” I told his unconscious form solemnly, before turning and walking to my bedroom door.
Pausing, I looked back and, hesitating, I grinned before spitting on him, like they did in the movies, and prancing happily out the door.
Freedom, here I come.
Natasha Daniels
“Graffiti is not about clean lines, pretty colors and beautiful blends. Graffiti is my life's turbulence exploded on a wall.”
~Mint Serf
Dipping my brush into the pallette of paint, I moved my brush to the canvas on my lap, smiling lightly at my work.
The smile was wiped off my face when I heard my uncle calling my name.
“Natasha! Do your chores, you worthless brat!” He shouted, causing me to cringe before I let a light sigh escape my lips.
“Coming, Uncle Drew!” I called back.
Setting aside my paint and brush, I quickly climbed to my feet and bolted downstairs, walking past my uncle, who was peeking out from the door of his office.
His beady brown eyes glared at me, framed by dark brown hair on his pudgy face. He was short, and rude, which explains why he wasn’t married.
Not meeting his eyes, I walked into the kitchen to start with the dishes.
I spent the rest of the afternoon, which turned out to be about five hours, doing chores and jobs around the large house that my uncle and I lived in.
Ever since my parents had died in a car accident, I had been forced to live with Uncle Drew, it had been five years so far, I was nine when my parents died, and now, fourteen, I was quiet and anti-social, wary of people and new places, which didn’t offer me a lot of friends.
My uncle would try to get me to go and socialize, actually talk to people, but, I was much more content with just painting.
He hated that. Then again, what didn’t my uncle hate?
He hated everything, including me, which always made me wonder why he actually took me in after my parents died.
It is hard to believe he even has any goodness in his heart.
Walking back inside, I felt like something was amiss, and, hearing footsteps upstairs, I couldn’t help but wonder what my uncle was up to.
“Uncle Drew?” I called lightly, walking up the steps.
When I got no response, I frowned, a frown which deepened when I realized the noise was coming from my room.
“Uncle, what are you...?” I stopped talking as I stepped into the room, seeing my uncle seemingly taking all my paint supplies.
I was speechless for a moment, as my uncle looked up at me.
“What... w-what are you doing?” I questioned slowly, causing my uncle to frown at me, picking up the painting of the dove I had been working on before my chores.
“What does it look like I’m doing? You’ll be doing no more painting until you do something with yourself, I won’t have you turning out to be a little priss like your mother.” He spat.
My fists clenched at my sides.
“Don’t you dare insult her.” I growled lowly, causing my uncle to scoff.
“Please, my sister was nothing but worthless, same with the man she married. I’m raising you now, you live under my roof, so I have no option but to make sure you don’t turn out like them.” He told me, causing me to walk right up to him, staring him down.
“Say that one more time.” I dared him, looking down at him since the man was shorter then me, and, for the first time, looked intimidated by me.
I was usually calm, and passive, but, insult my parents and you’ll get it.
Seemingly getting a burst of sudden bravery, my uncle straightened up, though, that added nothing to his height.
“I said; you won’t end up being a loser like your parents.”
Within seconds, I had grabbed my uncle by the collar and slammed him against the wall, growling as I slammed his head back.
“If anyone in my family is a loser, Uncle Drew, it’s you.” I snarled, and, with that, I slammed his head back, causing him to lose consciousness as I let him drop to the ground.
Shaking my head, I grabbed the small canvases off the ground, and, grabbing my laptop bag, I placed them inside, along with my laptop and cord, and my paint supplies, paints, brushes, and my pallette, before pulling the strap over my shoulder.
I wouldn’t stay here with this man anymore. I could stand him for only a certain ammount of time and, when he takes away my paints, something my parents taught me, shit gets real.
“Goodbye, Uncle Drew, I wont be seeing you around.” I told his unconscious form solemnly, before turning and walking to my bedroom door.
Pausing, I looked back and, hesitating, I grinned before spitting on him, like they did in the movies, and prancing happily out the door.
Freedom, here I come.