Sister Explosion.

Submitted by Violet Anne to Contest #10 in response to: Write a story about a character who is trying to create art but is constantly interrupted.... view prompt

This is what Jeoffrey felt that Wednesday school night, at his house, with the art contest on Friday, and not a single droplet of paint on his white canvas.


He fumbled with his elegant, polished, wooden paint brush, twisting it between his fingers anxiously. Riley Williams was doing a sunset over the ocean with her new watercolor palette that she got for her birthday. And Lily Stewart was doing a weeping willow. And everyone knew that Lily had a giant weeping willow tree right outside her window in her neighbor's backyard.

Jeoffrey didn't have a weeping willow in his neighbor's backyard.

By the time he had realized he had grown a bright red splotch of a beard on his chin, there was a loud knock on his door. He drew the paintbrush away from his chin, and placed it down gently on the cabinet top. "Coming!" he yelled, wiping his face with his sleeve while making his way to the door.

He opened it and peeked outside, and saw the most ugly little mutant rat, tarantula in the world.

His little sister, Mikayla.

Mikayla was your typical annoying little sister, so that's exactly why Jeoffrey shut the door, and went back to his painting. He dipped the paint brush in the water, swishing it around to wash off the red, then brushed it off on the side of the water container. He dipped it into the pale blue, and went to his canvas. He would draw an ocean, dolphins leaping through the air, sea turtles diving underneath.

Maybe a kraken.

He was just about to do his first stroke of his soon-to-be masterpiece, when suddenly his sister bust into the room. He didn't know how, since the door knob was a foot higher than her, but the ugly mutant rat tarantula had entered the building, and he did the first thing he thought of.

He grabbed the paintbrush and waved it at her threateningly. "On guard!" he hollered. She craned her neck to the side, inspecting him. "What?" she asked. "On guard." he said, a bit less enthusiastically. "It's, like, what knights say. Like, on guard! With their swords!" Jeoffrey took his paintbrush down and sighed. This was useless.

"Oh, oh, oh! I know!" Mikayla suddenly screeched, shaking her foot, expecting her shoe to fly off. After that didn't work, she bent down and pulled off her shoe, then hopped back up.

"On guard!" she screamed, shoe in hand, like a weapon. Jeoffrey tilted his head at her. "That's a shoe, Mikayla." he pointed out. "That's a paintbrush." she retorted.

Good point.

"Okay, shoo. I have to work on my art - ack, just go." he rolled his eyes, then glanced at the canvas with a few strokes of color, then flipped the page over. Nope.

Ooh, maybe a cool feather would be original. Grace Anderson was doing an owl, but that wasn't themed off of a feather.

Jeoffrey cleansed the brush thoroughly, then dipped it in gray - a medium shade, not too pale, yet not too dark. He made about ten quick scrapes of the brush on paper, to show the edges of the feather.

Then, just as he was about to ponder about his next move, his mom's voice rose from downstairs. "JeJe! Come down here this instant!" his mother shouted, a bit too loud. Jeoffrey grunted, placed the brush down, and sat on his bed stubbornly. "Can you come up here?" he shouted back. "I'm covered in paint, and I really don't want you to give me a lecture about showering myself to make myself presentable to you, THEN hearing what you have to say."

His mom gave a noise of displeasure, but even though, she stayed down stairs. "One... two... threeeeee…"

(This changes from outside of Jeoffrey's perspective, to inside his. Sorry.)

It seemed like magic, what immediately made me stand up, grab my canvas, (of course, with all the empty and colored pages, in case I changed my mind about the feather. And I obviously grabbed my painting kit) and race down stairs. "Coming!" I yelled, tumbling down the stairs and galloping into the kitchen, crouching to her feet like a dog.

"Go outside with your sister, she's bored. And you've been cooped up in your room all day, go play a sport. A lot of boys your age play sports now." I inhaled sharply, gritting my teeth.

"Mom, my real passion is art. I don't like sports!" I screamed at her, sprinting away loudly to show my anger. I slammed the screen door as I exited outside. I scampered to the patio, to a space where it would be excellent to set up a canvas and a platter of paint. As soon as I did that, another idea sparked up in my mind.

It was a beautiful day - it was a rare occasion - it was blue skies, bright, beautiful blue skies, and there were a few clouds outside. Only a few clouds.

But there was enough for art.

I took out my paintbrush and my platter of paint, and I laid my canvas down on a nearby table. I had accidently forgotten my canvas stand, so I found a comfortable seat and began a sketch of the clouds. It was an easy piece of art, just the delicate, puffy clouds and a back round of soft blue.

Just as I begin my third to last cloud in the sky, Mikayla skipped up to me and tapped my shoulder. "What?" I asked. "A lot of girls in first grade like doing drawing, but not a lot of boys. Why do you like to do drawing?" she asked, and I tightened my muscles. "'Cause I enjoy it." I said plainly, turned back to my canvas. A lot of boys in my class liked art, it wasn't weird.

"Leave me alone, I need to continue painting. There's not a lot of time until the contest is over, Mikayla." I continued my sky, then paused.

Goodness, the sky was too simple!

Olivia Mackery was doing the National Park of Jaecester, every detail, she stated, which is where I live. Like, literally, my house is just outside the perimeter of the park. I'm lucky Mom asked me to go to our backyard to play with Mikayla (which I'm not doing whatsoever) instead of going to park, because if 'Olivia the crybaby' was there, she'd throw a fit and tell everyone she knew that I copied her art for the art contest.

"You're so hard on yourself, Jeoffrey." Mikayla sighed, shaking her head like Mom would.

"You can't act like Mom until you learn where babies come from." I spat at her. "And don't you dare say it." I blurted out quickly, before the question came. She furrowed her brow, and zipped her mouth.

"I know some things about where babies come from! I know they come from the belly!" to show me where the belly was, which wasn't necessary, she stuck her hands into my stomach - which made me topple backwards into the canvas - AND THE PAINT!

The empty canvas was soon devoured by every shade of the rainbow, and I shot a curse at her face before shaking the gooey, slimy, thick paint onto her that had stuck onto me, and looking at the canvas. And then...

"You're a genius." I breathed, staring at the canvas. "I'll give you 5% of the money when I win the school art contest!" I declared. "Really?" she awed. "No." I smirked, and let the rest of the day sink into relaxation. My artwork was done. The next day, I would turn the canvas in to the art contest. And I would give her 6% of the art contest winning money.

|~| |~| |~| |~|

I sat, my hands folded neatly in my lap as the Town Hall stretched longer and longer, the principal blabbering about each school event coming up, and blah blah blah. By then I had zoned out.

Then, the question of the art contest rose up. "Hello, students, and this is the moment you have been waiting for; the winner of the art contest!" the principal yelled into the microphone, and everyone cheered back positively.

"Now, I will show the artwork on the screen to show who won." she politely ran over to the laptop, and clicked a few buttons - and the image popped up.

A blank canvas with red and green and purple and yellow dripped down from all over, like a giant explosion of colors. A giant splash of an art palette. The barf of a rainbow, perhaps.

Or your little sister bumping into you when she explains how babies are born.

"Jeoffrey Miller, congratulations. What would you call this piece, sweetie?" she asked, scooting off of the stage and coming toward me, with the microphone in hand. I breathed heavily onto it, overjoyed as I racked my hand for a name. "How about..." I grinned.

"Sister Explosion."

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