Except from my writing

Creatively Struggling 

It was the size of a walk-in cupboard. It wasn’t much, but it was a cosy place to live. The whole place had two single doors, the rest of the place was open and free. The living room was quite large for such a small space. The sofa was a faded grey pressed against the corner behind the sofa was a pinboard filled with photos. The only other piece of furniture was a coffee table through it was nothing special, it was designed to hold the many art supplies and brushes so much so that the table itself had been stained by the kaleidoscope of colours.

The front door opened with a creak, studded boots stopping the door from swinging shut, fishnet tights and a black skirt hidden by an emerald green silk top pops around the door with a big box in front of it; the mocha skin gripping it close.

“Hello?” She says with as much friendliness she can muster. Holding the phone to her ear using her shoulder, she kicks the door with her foot forcing a gust of wind to catch her raspberry red curls with it. Placing the box next to the door, she walks to the kitchen, “No, I’m not going out again.” She sighs, opening the fridge door and closing it again after finding it empty. “Okay, I’ll see.” She gives in as she leans against the kitchen counter and finally ending the call. 

She goes back to the box opening it, it was filled with different arts and craft stuff. She looked at them with excitement, she got the job; she had been dreaming of and hoping to finally make it out in this even bigger city. She looked at the canvas as it leaned against the table. She looked back at new paints and craft objects. She closes the box. She is filled with excitement, but no motivation. 

Maybe she should go out to celebrate for a few hours at least.

The bar, her friends wanted to meet at was called ‘Magic Mirror.’ It was a small place, it had a small garden area that was lit up with fairy lights, it was like stars in a night sky. It had glass pane windows, each piece is painted by hues of colours with redwood panel flooring. She let out a big sigh. People say that sometimes a couple of drinks help with the creative flow. She sighed again, she prayed it was true.

Walking it, the bar had scattered groups of people. It’s not as busy as usual. A few regular costumers crowded together around the bar in a drunken depression. “Over here.” A small hand popped up into the air, waving with excitement. “Over here, Rylie.” They say again. Rylie turns towards a small booth in the corner in the bar, flashes them a smile and quicken her pace towards them. The two shadows sat with few drinks already in front of them.

“Hello, Val and Dom,” Rylie says, Valeries gave her a shy wave, she was a small-framed person. She was tattooed all up her arms. She had multiple piercings on her face and ears. She looked intimidating, but she’s very emotional deep down. A big softie. She wore a light pink top and light blue jeans. Dominik was a skinny frame for a boy, even Rylie was bigger than him. He had coily black hair with dark brown skin. He wore a red button-up shirt, the first top buttons undone with black ripped jeans. He was a laidback type of person most of the time. 

Rylie takes a seat next to Dominik, upon a further look at him; his eyes were blood red, but Rylie quickly shrugged it off as it was usual for him. A waiter came to the table asking if the table wanted anything. Rylie ordered a couple of drinks and all of them were for herself. “Where’s Frankie and Landon?” Rylie asked. Frankie was the wild child of their small friendship group, she was always in some kind of trouble or trying to do the craziest thing at the party. Landon was the spiritual one, he was always thinking about the meaning of life which to some degree was very boring to everyone else. 

Valerie and Domnik looked at it each other with concerning faces. Valerie awkwardly shuffled, “I’m going to go to the bathroom.” She slid out from the booth and made a quick pace for the door. Rylie looks over at Dominik, who is already inching out of his seat. “I’m going for a smoke,” he said,  showing her a small rolled paper, with bits of brown and green inside. 

Rylie’s order came out, now alone, she decided to order even more drinks. She needed this job to succeed or she came here for nothing. The nerves bubble in her, her hands shaking. She reaches for her shot glasses, downing them one after another, trying to drown the nerves. Rylie sits alone, drinking away. To anyone else in the room, she looked just like the regular costumers, drinking into a drunken depression.