Post by robin on Aug 16, 2012 10:16:27 GMT -5
It was a normal sized room, though it was hard to tell that now. Even when she wasn't in it, it looked considerably smaller by comparison due to the easel and canvases everywhere. The dull grey was littered with colors, light blues, dark blues, whites, greens, yellows, purples, indigos (No, she insisted rather vehemently, that was not the same as purple), blacks, oranges, reds, pinks, all the colors you could imagine and more were splattered on the ground, on the walls on the ceiling (Yeah, she wasn't sure how it got there either). And paintings were littered all over. Bright cheery pictures of rainbow colored cloud-scapes and vivid meadows far beyond the locked in bars of the Deadman prison. There were other paintings too, paintings stacked in a corner, face down, sometimes under a tarp. She didn't like those paintings. But she painted them anyway, she had to. They told her she had to.
There was always an unfinished painting on the easel in the middle of her room. Today's was of a bright golden meadow where the leaves were actually little people and the wind was made of sweet candle smoke and the water of the raindrops actually was made of pure happiness. Yes, today was a good day.
When Robin was in her room, it was easy enough to tell. There was humming or screaming- but usually just humming. The lights would spill into the hall and she would hum or sing out a sweet little song in English that most could not understand.
And so is the Robin's nest, a mix of paints and pictures, bed shoved carelessly to the side, always unmade, covers and sheets stained with many colors. Just like the Robin herself.
There was always an unfinished painting on the easel in the middle of her room. Today's was of a bright golden meadow where the leaves were actually little people and the wind was made of sweet candle smoke and the water of the raindrops actually was made of pure happiness. Yes, today was a good day.
When Robin was in her room, it was easy enough to tell. There was humming or screaming- but usually just humming. The lights would spill into the hall and she would hum or sing out a sweet little song in English that most could not understand.
And so is the Robin's nest, a mix of paints and pictures, bed shoved carelessly to the side, always unmade, covers and sheets stained with many colors. Just like the Robin herself.