The Canvas

i was very young when my mum talked to me about my anger, she said if it carrys on it could be dangerous. she told me to get a hobby to take my mind off life. i chose painting because it sounded fun, but at that time i didnt relize how important it was to choose somthing i would enjoy. i started to get into painting and when i statrted i didnt stop for days on end. when i my mother died, it crushed my heart, i had to put up with the pain for weeks, months, years. it didnt get any easier. everyday my father cried more and more, until one night when he put me to bed he said i need to deal with things in a more humane way, i cant paint forever he said. i didnt get it, but when i woke... he was gone. i was alone, our house was much bigger without anyone in it.

i was born to paint, but my fathers last wish was not to paint. i put away my painting bits and have never touched them since. they just remind me of how hard life is. i knew my nan wouldnt turn me away so i headed there. i had no money fro trains and i had no car so it would take at least a day to get there. i headed off with just a bottle of water and the two left ver crakers from the packet i bought long ago. i was walking along the dusty road just outside of town when somone stopped infront of me and stepped out of the car. i was about to turn and run but they grabbed me, i kicked i screamed but i was too weak. they tied my hands and legs togther with rope, and threw me in the back of there car.