Liquids

Do you ever feel like the world is melting? 

I've always had this strange fasination with liquids. Especially those viscous ones. They make it seem like the world is slowing down, as they lazily flow back and forth. It calmed and anaesthetized me. It reminded me of drowning. Floating in fluid, hearing the subdued sounds coming from the surface softly in the background. 

"Do you want pancakes?" A voice said, sudden and clear. I looked up and found him leaning against the kitchen counter, munching on some cereal. I looked back at the bottle of syrup in my hands and shook no. He chuckled.

"Why is it then that you've been looking at it for like half an hour or so?" I shrugged, not really feeling like talking. He swallowed one last time and put down his bowl.

"Where do you want to go today?" I looked up at him, surprised.

"Yes, we are." He said. It was strange how he already could read my thoughts when they hadn't even formed a sentence in my mind yet. It was strange, but in a nice an relaxing way. It .meant that I wouldn't have to talk to say.

"We could go to the forest if you want. Or into town. Do you need anything?" I shook my head. The forest sounds nice though. It would probably look wonderful at this time of year.

"That's settled than." He said grinning.

"If we leave not to long from now we can have have a drink in one of the cafes if you want." I liked the idea, but I didn't want him spending any more money on me then he already was.

"And you can leave your wallet home, because I'm paying, whether you like it or not." He said giving me a 'stern' look before he disappeared around the corner. I sighed at looked back at the syrup. I was not as hypnothysing as before. It was now just an everyday bottle, filled with a extremely sweet substance. It funny how things seem to change in less than a second. But in fact, it was the same syrup as it was before. The only difference was the way in which I looked at it. I just had trouble figuring out which one was reality.

A chapter of a story I'm writing on. 

The strangers around me

I sat down beside her. She looked up from her worn off shoes and gave me a questioning look. I guess it said something between 'Hi' and 'Would you be so nice to fuck off'. When I didn't, she dropped her head and returned to the broken stiches that hold the leather around her foot together. She was not that old I guess, she was probably one of the youngest students. She looked even smaller than she already was, sitting next to that giant drawing-case. Small and hurt.

"What are you waiting for?" She looked up, obviously annoyed at my question.

"Why?"

"I don't know. You didn't seem to happy, so I thought I'd keep you company, maybe chat you up a little."

"You don't have to."

"So what is it that makes you so grumpy?" I said leaning back. She gave me a glare.

"People like you."

"So you don't like people who care about their fellow human being?" I chuckled. She just unknotted the wires of her earphones. Appearently she was planning on giving me the silence treatment.

"I don't like people who act like they have  good intentions, but actually just want to bring you down."

"So some one tries to bring you down." 

Just a few more knots to go.

"I just don't belong here." 

"Why?"

"Because I'm different." This actually made me laugh.

"Hun, you're at an art acedemie, you know that right? Every one is a weirdo here." 

"It just strange that all these individuals are doing to same and that thing is do what they are asked to do. To make art."

"So you're kind of our little rebel."

"That's the problem. I'm not.

~

"They're very fairytale-like." I said as I went through the pages of her sketchbook. She let out a frustrated sigh. 

"That's what my teacher said." 

"Is your teacher that much of an asshole?" She didn't reply, but just stared at the cars passing by. 

"No." I waited for her to continue.

"It's just that I don't belong here."

"Why wouldn't you?"

"Because I don't make art." 

"But do you know what art is?" I chuckled. She shrugged.

"At least it's not this."

"Why not? It looks nice, you really do have skills."

"That's the problem. It's just nice and it's just skills, but it's not art."

"How do you know that this is not art." She turned to me and just looked at me for a few seconds, before she anwsered.

"Because it's not what my teacher wants. She wants me to be raditional and work big and rough."

"That can be fun too. You're here to learn after all." 

"I know and I tried, but it just doesn't feel like me." She said softly as her eyes filled with tears.

"Maybe I'm just not an artist."