Graffiti Girl // Michael Clifford

|| 45 ||

Life can turn you upside down. Chew you up and spit you out. Tear you up it never ends. It goes on and on and on and on and... (On and on and on and on)

Hold on to that heartbreak! Hold on to that hell you have to pay! Sometimes it's the only thing that gets you by. (The only thing that gets you by)

Hold on to that heartbreak! Hold on to that hell you have to pay! All the tragedies make you who you are. Remember every scar.

«Remember Every Scar» Escape the Fate

-----

Puppet on a string, bound by earth.

I stare at the words above a rough rendering of a vague human shape attached to strings connected to an image of a globe. It's dated in my sketchbook from two years ago. A piece I started but apparently never finished. I don't even know why I never came back to it. The concept is cool, and the sketch is decent.

Puppet on a string...

Flipping to a blank sheet in my current sketchbook, I start blocking out a more developed copy of the image.

"What's Andi up to all seriously over there?" Ashton asks the room.

"Looking through her old stuff for inspiration for the contest," R answers. I don't look up from where my pencil is creating lines on my page.

"Does she have any ideas yet?" Cal asks.

"If she knew what she was going to do, wouldn't looking for ideas be pointless?" Luke laughs, pausing his casual strumming.

"I know she wants to include color symbols and stuff," Michael comments.

"Well, that narrows it down," Ash chuckles.

Puppet on a string...

"She seems to think so."

"What happens if she actually wins and ends up moving to America? She'd be gone for at least four years, and then what if she gets a job or something and decides to stay longer?" Luke asks.

"Then we support her and visit as much as possible," R says timidly after a long, weighted pause.

I try to ignore their conversation and focus on the image slowly coming to life before me.

Puppet on a string...

"It'd just be so weird with her on the other side of the world, though, ya know?" Luke mumbles. "I looked it up the other day and it's a fifteen hour time difference. She'd be waking up when we were going to bed. It's hard to stay in touch when you only spend a few of the same hours awake."

"So we become nocturnal for a few years," Michael tries to joke, but his voice is noticeably deflated.

Puppet on a string...

-----

"So have you come up with any ideas yet? Anything in mind?" Mr. Berkins asks, placing a stack of graded tests off to the side on his desk. He stands and walks around to lean against the desk in front of me.

"Yeah, I actually came across something when I was looking through one of my old sketchbooks last night that I think I might want to do," I say with a smile, pulling out both books from my bag. I flip them both open to show the new and old sketches of roughly the same image. "I talked about it with Mrs. Trixie this morning and she says she likes the concept so far."

"Okay, so explain it to me," he says, coming to look over my shoulder at the pair of drawings.

"Well, it's still a little rough and I need to develop the ideas into words a bit more, but basically what I'm thinking is having the puppet represent the population bound to the restrictions of societal expectations. And, like, we're all just marionettes being controlled by the rest of the world, but led to believe we're existing to dance and be free. We're really here to put on a show for the rest of the world, ignoring the fact that it's fake and once the curtains close we're just limp dolls unsure what to do with ourselves without the guidance of our puppet masters."