The Artist
“Sarah?” I hear my name called. I look up and see the class staring at me expectantly.
“Yes?” I answer. The teacher rolls her eyes and sighs.
“I asked you a question. What are you doing that is more important than paying attention in my class?” She questions me as she starts walking toward my desk. I quickly close my notebook so that she can’t see my drawings.
“Nothing. What was the question?” I ask her as she stops in front of my desk. The bell chimes and she yanks the notebook out of my hands.
“I will be keeping this and we will be having a conference with your parents to figure out what your problem is.” She tells me. I stand and walk out of the classroom. I hope that she doesn’t actually look in the notebook, I’ve drawn some terrible things in there that I would really not like people to see. I quickly walk out of the school building and head for home. It’s only about a fifteen minute walk and I usually do it by myself because I don’t have any friends in my last year of high school but it’s to be expected, I’ve been the school freak since I was little. I walk up to my house to find my mother standing on the front porch looking for me. Her eyes land on me almost immediately and she starts making her way off the porch with a scowl on her face. We meet halfway and I don’t dare look in her eyes.
“What happened at school?” She asks. I wring my wrists and stare at my feet. “Pray do tell, child. I got a call from your teacher asking for me to come in for a parent teacher conference. What happened?” She asks me again. I look up at her and instead of anger, I see worry on her face.
“I was doodling in her class and she didn’t like it. She took my notebook and told me that she was going to call you for the conference.” I tell her. She rolls her eyes and grabs my arms in death grips forcing me to stare into her eyes.
“How do you expect to graduate from high school if you’re just going to sit and doodle all day?” She scolds me. I lower my head as she tells me to wait by the car and runs inside to grab her keys. Her lecture continues as we get in the car and head back to the school. “I cannot believe that you would risk your college education all because you want to sit and draw all day.” She scolds me again. I just keep my head down as we drive back to school. The drive only takes about five minutes and we arrive back to the place that I had just run from. I take a deep breath before stepping out of the car with my mother and heading inside. We head straight for my teacher’s classroom and find her standing out front looking very worried.
“Oh thank heavens you’ve arrived. There is something very urgent we must discuss.” She speaks directly to my mother and ignores me. My mother smiles and lets out a strangled sigh. The teacher looks at me in fear and then turns back to my mother. “Perhaps it is best if we don’t talk around your daughter, it seems that she is quite sensitive.” She comments and my mother nods following the teacher into her classroom. I sit at the door and try to listen to anything that I can but there’s nothing until my mother lets out a strangled sob, she’s seen my drawings, even the old ones from before my father died. I hear a chair slam to the ground and rushed footsteps so I step away from the door. My mother comes storming out with tears streaming down her face holding the picture that I had hidden in the folder of my notebook. She holds it up and I can feel tears forming in my eyes.
“You wished this on him didn’t you?” She questions me. I shake my head, suddenly mute. “Why do you have this picture?! If you did not wish this on him, why do you have this? How did you know exactly how it happened!? If you were not the one who did it?” She questions again. I feel a pain in my chest at hearing my mother blame me for my father’s murder.
“I didn’t, you have to believe me, I would never have wanted to hurt father.” I beg her. She just shakes her head and sniffles a bit.
“What did he ever do to you? To deserve something as horrible as this? Are you a witch, did you conjure up some kind of demon to kill him for you?” She starts accusing. I shake my head.
“No. I promise that I didn’t do anything. Besides you know he died while school was in session, and you can check my attendance record if you don’t believe that I haven’t been here everyday. The reason I have that drawing is because...I don’t even want to tell you because then you’ll think I’m crazy.” I explain. She scoffs with a small half smile on her face.
“You are crazy. I mean you killed your father. There must be something wrong with you. I’m calling Greenborough and having them take you away. I cannot live with a killer.” She says before turning back to the teacher. “Is there a phone that I can use and someone with the phone number for the asylum?” She questions. The teacher nods and leads her away, toward the front of the building. I knew that this would happen, and I didn’t even do anything wrong, except telling the future but apparently that’s witchcraft. My father did mistreat me but I never would have wished something like death on him but I can’t control what I see and what I don’t.
“Here she is!” I hear someone triumphantly call out. I turn to see a parade of people walking toward me all with angry looks on their faces. I start backing away as I notice that my mother is leading the pack with a knife in her hand. I back up until I hit negative space and then I turn and run. She’s going to kill me for something I have no control over. I feel the tears start streaming down my face as I run through the empty halls of the school. I go to turn down a different hall that will lead me to the front of the school but there’s another mob. Where did all of these people come from? I turn and run down the opposite end of the hall where the back door is . I go to open it but there are people there too so I whirl back around only to come face to face with my worst fear.
“Father? No, this can’t be, you’re dead.” I slowly back away until I run into a wall, with hands.
“That will be enough running from you.” I hear the man say as he presses a cloth over my mouth. My world starts turning and suddenly everything goes black.
“Do you think she’s okay?” I hear a female voice ask.
“I don’t know. It seems like she hit her head pretty hard.” A male voice comments.
“Yeah. The guards really gave her a warm welcome.” Another male voice grumbles. I feel my body slowly starting to wake up and I move my fingers a bit.
“Xavier, tell the nurse that the girl is waking up.” The female voice says again. Footsteps quickly walk away and I start moving my neck around. Then, I suddenly remember what happened and I shoot up in bed with a start. I look around to see that I am not at home but instead I am in a brown room with paint peeling in every corner. The bed that I am sitting on is a rusting metal cot with a very thin mattress on top of it. “Good morning.” Someone says. I look over to find a girl with long brown hair and pretty green eyes smiling at me.
“Hello. You’re really pretty.” I tell her. She gives me a confused look but shrugs her shoulders.
“Okay?” She holds her hand out to me with her smile restored. “I’m Katherine.” I eagerly shake her hand.
“Sarah. Say, could I draw you?” I ask her. Her face falls into confusion and a little anger again.
“No.” She says. She turns to the boy with a smile before walking out of the room. The boy steps forward with a smile.
“Don’t worry about her. She might come around. It’s just that this isn’t the best place to get your portrait drawn. It’s not the best place to draw landscape pictures either, unless you like fences and barbed wire.” He tells me. This boy has short brown hair and sharp blue eyes. He holds his hand out to me the same way Katherine did. “I’m Alex. I’m one of the newer patients here.” He tells me. I smile and shake his hand.
“Sarah. Is this where I think it is?” I ask him. He gives me a confused look.
“That depends on where you think this is.” He tells me.
“Oh goody, riddles. I don’t know where I am. The only thing I can think is that my mother actually followed through with sending me to Greenborough.” I tell him. He sighs and nods his head but before he can respond a knock sounds on the metal door. We look up to see a man in a white lab coat and Alex quickly stands up.
“Doctor, I was just talking to her, trying to make her feel comfortable.” He explains himself. The doctor nods with a smile.
“Yes, that’s fine. I was just coming to do our first meeting. Why don’t you go to the common room with the others and I’ll let you know when we are finished.” He tells Alex. Alex nods his head before turning and quickly walking out of the room. I guess the doctor has him a bit uptight about something. I turn to see the doctor sitting where Alex had been, watching me expectantly, as if I might do something. Once he watches me for a few seconds he opens his folder and takes down a few notes before starting the talk. “Sarah. That’s a nice name. How are you feeling right now?” He asks.
“Stressed and upset. I cannot believe that my mother would do this to me.” I tell him. He nods and takes down notes.
“Do you have any idea why she would do this?” He questions me.
“Well, you certainly like to get to the root of the problem quickly don’t you. What if I don’t feel like telling?” I ask him. He scowls at me.
“We have ways of making you tell us. Of course we would rather just have civil conversations at first.” He tells me. I nod with a half smile on my face.
“Okay. Well, it’s not that big a deal. My mother blew it up and jumped to crazy conclusions…” The doctor cuts me off by unfolding the picture.
“Because of this? what conclusions did she draw? Is she wrong for jumping to these conclusions?” He asks. I nod.
“Yes. I drew that picture one day while I was in school. I accidentally went into a trance and I guess I saw that in my creative mind and I drew it. My mother saw it and thought that because I drew it I must have killed my father but I never would have wished him death, especially not like that.” I tell the doctor. He nods and scribbles something down before continuing the interrogation.
“Why would you want your father dead?” He asks me. I feel tears starting to burn my eyes.
“I didn’t. Even though he did mistreat me, I never wished for anything like this to happen to him.” I tell him. He nods and writes some more before closing his folder and clearing his throat.
“Well, that’s the end of the introductory visit. Once I decide your therapy, you will be attending once a week and you will meet with me once a month.” He tells me. I nod.
“Is there any chance of me getting out of here?” I ask him. He sighs and turns back to me.
“I’m afraid not. You killed your father and the only way you can get out of here is to go to jail and possibly be put to death.” I nod my head again as tears start silently falling down my face. “Would you like me to call Alex back in here?” He asks. I shake my head. “Very well, I hope you have a good night and I hope that you get along well with the other patients.” He tells me as he walks out of the room. I curl myself up in the small corner of my bed and pull the blanket over myself, it’s time to sleep.