New Neighbour?It's been three months since the old lady died, and the funeral was unattended by the Paint Rat, but then again, why would she show up? She never actually spoke to her, only a few mutters and smiles. It might sound rude, but it was true. The Paint Rat wouldn't risk going outside for any reason other than to go to the store or park, which was an agonisingly far ways away. The silver eyes darted to the corner of her room, and she froze. Her thoughts stopping in just moments as she waited for...something. It was a loud noise, jolting her back into her reality. What was she doing? Where was she again? The girl looked around, and blinked a few times at the fumes that burned her eyes. Right, she was working on another piece that would forever scar her body and mental health and would probably take another twelve hours to make and only sell for about fifty dollars.
The Paint Rat basically starved herself just to be able to make her art, wanting to be able to live her life as she wanted. Everything was so dull in the world, so horrendously normal. Art was the only thing that she knew how to express herself with, what other thing out there was perfect enough for her? Everyone else sat in an office job, or did jobs they didn't even like. Others had jobs they did enjoy, but at a few costs. Like herself. The girl suffered day in and day out to try and get her thoughts out to the world. Wanting to show them that someone could live off of being an artist. Even though her bills were coming in soon and she would have to pay off water bills, she didn't have electricity. So that wasn't a problem. Nope, no lights, no electronics, nothing. She lived in a place of darkness, that is, unless she wants to waste candles on trying to paint. Other times, she would open her curtains for a rare amount of time, so the moonlight could finally come inside of her room. It was the only light that ever came in. Sunlight wasn't allowed. Sunlight could damage art works.
The Paint Rat wanted to show the world of what an artist can do, but what was she doing now? Getting high off of her own paint thinner, that was what. A deep sigh escaped her mouth as she looked at her painting...what was it again? Her eyes squinted as she tried to make out what she was working on for an unknown amount of time. It looked like...trash. It was horrible, ugly, a waste of paints. Her confused expression turned sour as she stood up, and threw her paintbrush on the ground. Pathetic. Worthless. Her paint soaked hands reached up, twisting her fingers into her hair. Tugging at the multi-length auburn locks until her skull was throbbing in pain. She wasted paint, precious precious paint on a horrible painting. It wouldn't sell for more than twenty dollars. This was awful! How could she paint without at least paying attention! How much money did she most likely lose due to making this monstrosity...
Money racked in her head, and it came to an amount of around fifty or sixty dollars down the drain, including the money she would earn back due from the "twenty" she could earn from it. That meant that she had to cut back on something from her list of needs. It didn't take long for her to decide that eating little amounts was a good enough sacrifice in order to gain some money back. It was a sacrifice she was completely willing to make, it was the only sacrifice she seemed to ever make. Never cutting back on her art supplies, and risking her own health in order to create the gorgeous pieces of work. She didn't mind it, her pieces were beautiful, even in her own mind. In the beginning, she hated her work, seeing that it was nothing but garbage that didn't deserve to be even called art. As time went on, her love for her own pieces, and proudly presented them to give them off. Smiling widely and loudly explaining what they were, what they were made of, and more. How she put her heart into every piece, giving her absolute all to make sure that every single piece of art was absolutely perfect. No less. The Paint Rat made sure to put her soul into every stroke, giving them personality and care, treating them as if they were the most important thing on the planet.
Too bad the world wasn't in need of artists like her anymore.
May be her works would be famous, after she died. Once she's resting and rotting away, her works would finally be appreciated. She'll be forever put down as an artist. The girl sighed, almost as if she were thinking about a dream, and lowered her hands. Letting them gently hit her sides as she stared down at her painting. Well, this one would probably be loved...wouldn't it? In hundreds of years, people would look at it and smile, and scholars would look at it and question what she was wondering and doing to want to create it. What was her reason for making it? Oh yes, the paint thinner.
Three months, huh? Strange how time could pass by so quickly, and not even seeing it. It just brushes past everyone's shoulders, and before they know it; their living in a life they don't love, loving a love they don't love, realising that their life was a living hell and there is nothing they can do now. Expect just sitting there at their job, regretting that they didn't appreciate time enough. She appreciated it. She appreciated it by not noticing it. What time was it? She didn't know. What day was it? She didn't know. What month was it? She didn't know. The only reason she knew it's been three months was because of her trip to the store earlier, the manager muttering about how it's been "three months since she's passed," and some others things she couldn't quite catch. The Paint Rat appreciated time, but accepting the fact that it is nothing other than something to hold people back and scare them. Ticking slowly but seemingly fast at the same time. Making people realise how precious their lives are, and how much they waste them. The auburn haired girl, on the other hand, didn't worry about time. She just sat there, hours on end, painting. Not caring what time it was, or how much time she wasted due to what she loved. She just-
The Paint Rat almost let out a scream, stepping back and stepping on a large paintbrush. She slipped back, landing very harshly on metal containers, most likely filled with more paintbrushes. Though she didn't scream due to the heart attack sound, she did let out a loud hiss at the pain that ruptured through her spine. It wasn't one of those pins and needles pain, it was the one that stung and felt as if something was hitting it over and over. Like slamming ones fingers in a door, and the pain in their fingers is like someone slamming a door on their fingers over and over. Until the pain subsided to nothing but a burning, red, throbbing pain. But instead of being on her fingers, it was on her spine. The silver-eyed girl finally got the gall to roll over, resting on her side. Staring blankly at the wall. What was that sound? It was loud...obnoxious...annoying...as if a sound was made specifically for her suffering to raise higher and higher until it bubbled out in salty tears.
She finally rolled over and stood up, slowly as it would of made her see thousands of colours if she dared stand up too quickly. Raising an eyebrow as loud, booming voices echoed throughout her room. Who...dared speak that loudly? Didn't they know that the sun was falling? Meaning most people are going to rest for the time being, meaning that loud speaking was horribly rude for others. Who dared. She grumbled under her breath, and limped over to her window, squinting through the curtain. Though it, she could see white, very very dull, blurry lights. Lots of them, seemingly wrapping around something. There was a brighter light a bit farther in distance. It was nice, she mentally snapped a click of it, remembering what it would look like. It would look stunning if she painted it, but instead of her using maroon colour curtains, she could use a light cyan. Sea green. Yes, give it that lively feel. A blissful look, calming, soothing.
The Paint Rat dared to peek behind the curtain, just barely being able to see her old neighbors balcony. The flowers in the pots were gone, scooped out it looked like. There weren't even weeds in them. Where did they go? They must of died when she did, but why weren't they still there? They should of been just as dead as her own, but they were completely out. Gone. The metal bars that oh-so-beautifully twisted now had a small string of fairy lights swirling around them. Giving off a light shimmer of white light. Twinkling against the black bars, making them seemingly sparkle. The silver eye, as that was the only one that dared to look out beyond the curtains, looked beyond the balcony, and widened at the sight. Oh the disgusting sight.
But this was different, this was...special. Her fingers gripped tighter on the curtain as she opened it a bit more, revealing more of her body now. Her shoulder, arm, and even a sliver of her hip could be seen now. The sickly pale skin looked worse under the moonlight, almost making it glow. She watched with the curious eyes as the boy kept dancing around like a deer, laughing and teasing his friend, who seemed to be asleep. The Paint Rat decided to look around their room, and blinked a few times. There were instruments everywhere. A large black one, resting in the center of the room, a seat resting right in front of it. Guitars, big guitars, tiny guitars, so many types of guitars. Silver, stick-like instruments, wood stick-like instruments. There were so many, that she couldn't even count how many there were. When did they move in? Did they move in together, or was one of them just helping the other? Why were their so many instruments? Could he play all of them like that?
Questions ran through her head faster than she ever thought they could. It almost caused a headache. After a short while, one last question lingered in her mind...where are the colours? She blinked a few times, and looked back at the tiny-neck-guitar man. A small gasp escaped her thought, and a harsh jolt caused her curtains to sway. The item he used to play the tiny guitar was frozen, he was still. His eyes were as wide as hers, but he had a grin on his face. He noticed her. The small guitar was dropped down a bit from his neck, resting against his chest as he almost called out to her. Not a word was able to leave his lips, before the Paint Rat slipped back into her room. Letting the curtain fall into place, letting herself be covered by darkness once more. Her hand covered her mouth, and she stumbled back. Her back still slightly hurting from before, but now she was more worried about being noticed than anything else. No one ever really saw her face. She was always looking down, always. Not even the workers at the art supply store knew what she looked like, it was all blind to them. They didn't know about her heavy, dark eye bags that rested below her dull silver eyes. How her eyebrows always seemed to arch in a sad way. How her cheekbones stuck out, and how her dimples shown when she smiled. Not that she smiled often. Her lips were sealed, remaining closed. She could still speak, she knew that for a fact. She wasn't completely silent, after all.
The shock of being seen caused a shock of panic to run through her body, for no apparent reason. She dared not to look again out the window, in fear that he would still be looking at her. Still with that grin on his face, panting heavily due to jumping around like a lunatic. If it weren't for the tiny-neck-guitar he played, he would of looked insane. He and his friend. Lover? Who knew. She didn't care. She just wanted to sleep. For the first time in a long, long time, the Paint Rat decided that her painting could wait. The racing thoughts and her heart pounding against her chest caused her breathing to almost feel painful. Like something was stabbing her ribs instead of beating gently against them. No, this was the stabbing paint that was in her back, but instead was in her chest. Breathing became more difficult the more she thought about it...She was seen, she was seen, how could someone see her? And smile about it!? Maybe he was smiling because he was thinking about how stupid she looked? She must of looked like an idiot, standing there without saying a word. She must of seemed like a stalker, a creep. She must of looked disgusting.
The girl swallowed roughly as she went over to her little corner. Sitting down on the messy cloth, and laying down on it seconds later. Colours, do your colours. Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple, pink, black, white. Primary: yellow, blue, red. Secondary: purple, orange, green. Cool: blue, green, violet. Warm: red, orange, yellow. Good thing she already went out to get more paint not too long ago, because now she didn't need to leave her home. Perfect, no one would have to see her. Not the people on the streets, not the guy next door that randomly appeared...speaking of that, how did he even get there? Was she so entrapped in her own works that she didn't even notice someone move in? Her eyes closed, trying to think of anything that could possibly relate to someone moving in. There were some loud noises and talking, but she just figured that those were all from the kids on the streets, playing their stupid games. Silver and Silver Sand are different colours. Ink black and Onyx black are two different colours. Dark moss and Dark olive green are two different colours. None of them are the same, no two colours are ever truly the same. Didn't people know how to be quiet anymore? It was like they were trying to give people headaches.
Without thinking, she rolled over, grabbing some of the sheet and letting it roll with her. The longer her colour thought process went on, the more control over her breathing and heart rate she had. It was a little trick she learnt a long time ago. Doing anything with colour helped her sooth her nerves down, it was like counting sheep for some people. The sheet was soft, shockingly enough, there wasn't much paint on it. It loosely covered her, but her feet still were out in the open. Who cares? She didn't fear the dark, she didn't fear any monsters that could snatch her. She didn't fear any of those silly stories. All just children's tales to freak them out and scare them to death. Keeping them awake at night, letting their fears take them over. It was horrible to do that to a kid, making them realise what true fear was, even if it was about something as silly as a stupid story. There was nothing real about any of the stupid stories. Something going to claw at her feet while they stick out from the blankets? Yeah, right. Like that was a real thing that could happen. She didn't fear anything childish like that, no oh no.
She feared something realistic. Something that didn't grab at feet when they stuck out of blankets. Something that didn't hide in the closet or under a bed. It was something that struck fear into a lot of people, but she just couldn't bare this. Kids grew out of their fears of the dark, or of the pile of clothes that rested in a chair. She never grew out of hers. The Paint Rat feared something that was in every day life. Feeling uncomfortable around it, around them. Like they were all judging her, and they usually were, in her mind. In her mind, everyone was against her. Finding that she was pointless to anything, just another artist who was wasting space in a home. Wasting water and food that others could use.
That's right...she feared people.