Post by stellansayer on Apr 30, 2011 12:41:59 GMT -5
x
The sight of the beautiful greenhouse almost stunned Stellan into silence. He smiled winningly to himself.
This would be a perfect place to draw he thought pleasantly. He had five sketches due for homework tomorrow, and this would be the perfect place to get it done.
Stellan had never been a slacker in the homework department by any means, but being severely sick shortly after arriving to the Academy definitely didn’t help his case at all. His professors were all very understanding about it, and have let him take the time to make up all his missing work. Now he was back on top, and looking forward to complete the term with grades to spare. He missed his family, so he was looking forward to a period in time where he could stop and visit them for a while.
His baby sister had written him a letter recently—well, his older sister had written for her but Stellan knew that it was Luvena’s words with Erianthe’s writing. Luvena was turning six soon, and she needed her big brother there to celebrate. Unsure of how to get there, Stellan hadn’t yet replied to her letter.
Not only that, but his big sister and best friend Erianthe was getting married. Married to a guy that Stellan hardly knew; they’d only met in passing a handful of times. He was kind of hurt by that. Rawson was happily living with his girlfriend of a couple of years. Not that Rawson had called to talk to Stellan at all since he’d been gone. His mom called every single day. His mom had been his hero since the tender age of seven, when he’d realized that Dad was too busy spending time and hard-earned money on his perfect, eldest son.
Biting his lip, Stellan pulled out his sketchbook from its home in Stellan’s tattered messenger bag that he’d stolen from Erianthe for the move to Hawaii. Well, not really stolen so much as pleasantly taken without permission.
He looked up at this beautiful flower. Pencil in hand, his hazel eyes flicked up and down constantly. When he finished, the side of his hand was gray and his fingers throbbed with the tension of holding the pencil for such a long amount of time. He was pleased with the end result. He wished he had colored pencils to shade it in, and make it look really life-like but alas they were back in the dorm.
He signed his name in his cursive scrawl at the bottom—a personal quirk of Stellan’s.
Then he looked around, found another flower and began the process again. Rinse, lather, repeat. Glance, sketch, sign.