Lenny was up early and already in the small painting room. She had been too excited to sleep, not to mention the bed was uncomfortable. She kept turning around on it all night. The small bed frame and the comfortless bedding made it hard to feel relaxed.
Lenny stretched her arms, feeling her sore muscles ache. She sighed and looked around the room. There was a lot of work that needed to be done, before the room and items could be used for anything.
She got to work right away. Dusting the paintings, cleaning the floors and dusty windows, wiping the surface of the easels, Lenny worked fast and hard. Her excitement grew with each passing minute, she wanted to paint.
Lenny picked up the paint brushes and examined them again. They needed to be washed thoroughly under running water to get the hardened paint out of it, and make it usable again. Lenny got a bucket of water and threw all the paint brushes into it. It didn't take long before the hardened paint began to dissolve, mixing the clear water into a murky colour.
Setting the brushes out to dry, Lenny walked over to the bare canvas. It was clean and dust free now, she could use it to paint. Lenny looked around the now clean painting room as she pondered on the perfect place to set the easel.
Her eyes fell on the large window on the left and she made up her mind. She took the easel and set it beside the window. She set the canvas and the small chair down and sat on it. The canvas was staring at her and she was looking back at it. The excitement to paint was there, but what on earth was she going to paint? Lenny sighed and turned to the window.
Clear blue skies, having white fluffy clouds floating around it, the sun shining so bright, casting shadows everywhere. Lenny got up from the chair to get a better view of it.
From the window, she could see the back of the house. It was a garden, sort of. The Field was filled with flowers and short grasses. There was a large tree that looked old, and feeble. The leaves were brown and withering, even though it was summer. Hanging from the old tree was a long rusty chain, connected to a small tyre. From the looks of it, the tyre and the chains were made into a swing.
Lenny tore her eyes away from the makeshift swing and to the small brick well a few feet away from the large tree. Sitting at the top of the rod was a wooden bucket. It looked worn out and unused. Everything about her grandmother's house was way too old for Lenny to comprehend.
Sighing, she went back to staring at the blank canvas. Nothing was coming to her, nothing at all. Usually, whenever Lenny looked at the canvas, she could immediately envision what she wanted to draw and her emotions was a fuel for her inspiration. How was she feeling right now? Lenny closed her eyes. Nothing. She felt nothing, nothing at all.
"This is isn't working." Lenny groaned and got up from the chair.
She walked over to the cans of paint and flipped them open one by one. Most of them were hardened and unusable, while the rest where still okay. She picked up the orange and yellow paint, with a brush in hand and went back to the canvas.
She set them down and sighed. Lenny couldn't think of anything to draw, so she decided to go with the flow.
"I guess I'll draw a flower." She muttered, remembering the flower she had seen in the guidance counsellor's office.
Lenny dipped the bristles of the brush into the orange paint and began to move the brush along the blank surface of the canvas. She started off with small strokes, creating the stem of the flower with delicate movement.
Her hands moved further, creating more strokes and bringing life to the painting. The leaves, the flower, Lenny perfected each detail with care. Her hands stopped moving and she got out of the chair.
Taking a step back, she examined her work. It looked like a proper flower, but looking at her newly painted flower left her feeling dissatisfied.
"This isn't what I want." Lenny muttered as she bit the tip of her fingernails.
She took down the canvas and replaced it with an empty one. Lenny got to work again, creating another painting. Once again, she had finished, but the feeling of satisfaction did not grace her in the least.
With gritted teeth, Lenny repeated the process again and again, painstakingly. She gazed at the 5th canvas she had painted on and a sudden anger rise within her. Why couldn't she draw properly? Why was this happening to her? Lenny's grip on the paint brush tightened as her body shook with anger.
She let out a frustrated cry and began to run her brush vigorously over the canvas. She painted with violent strokes, ruining the flower she had originally started painted.
Lenny heaved heavily and her hands stopped moving. She gazed at the mess she had made. The nonsensical art she had create out of her silly anger. It looked like a tornado of yellow paint, attacking the canvas, swallowing it whole.
Lenny felt feeble. She let out an exasperated sigh and threw the paint brush down to the floor. Feeling sick to her stomach, she got out of the chair and trudged out of the room. Lenny looked around the quiet environment. Her eyes looked over to the large wall clock beside a painting.
It was already 5pm. Lenny blinked at the clock in awe. Just how long had she been in that room? And where was her grandmother? Lenny hadn't seen her at all today.
Walking down the thin corridor on the top floor, Lenny decided to check up on her grandmother. The whole point of her stay was to take care of the poor woman. If her mom knew she had spent the whole day painting, Lenny would get an earful from her. But which room belonged to her grandmother?
Lenny came to a stop outside a door that was a few steps away from the room she slept in. She noticed a liquid, seeping out from the small space underneath the door. Was that water? Curiously, Lenny pushed the door open, her heart thumping loudly in her chest. The brown, thick carpet was soaked with water, and the bathroom door was slight ajar.