Paintbrush X Lightbulb Novels & Stories

I'm sure my religious Russian mother would've had a heart attack if she knew what I was doing right now, but I couldn't be bothered enough to care. A blank canvas has unlimited possibilities. While we start out painting the perfect picture, things don't always go as planned. Our canvas got smudged along the way. We accidentally mixed the wrong colors, and some of the lines turned out jagged. At the end of it though, it's ours, and that's what makes it priceless.

“What do you think?” Lila shrugged. “Maybe she’s right. I paint what feels… comfortable. The ocean. Us. Happy things. Maybe I need to paint the hard stuff.” Emily reached across the table—squeezed her hand. “You don’t have to force darkness to prove depth. Your light is real. That’s powerful too.” Lila’s eyes filled. “But what if light isn’t enough for them?” Alexander spoke—quiet, steady.

I answer slowly. Hunter suddenly appears beside us. “Why would you choose that,” he asks, visibly offended, “when there are better quality options here?” “Because this one is affordable,” I explain patiently. “And it’s still good quality…” “Nonsense.” Lucas shakes his head immediately. Before I can protest, he walks toward another section and picks up a much fancier set. The moment my eyes land on the brand and price tag, my jaw almost drops. Ten thousand grand! For paint brushes and pens?!

Derrick “My savior.” I couldn’t stop shining my teeth reading the golden words inscribed on the black brush Zahra gave to me. I sat in front of my canvas with my palette beside me. As much as I want to dip my brush into the paint, I can’t help but pause because deep down…I want the first painting I make with this brush to be special. As it is now, I still don’t know what to paint. My eyes moved from the spotless white state of my canvas to Dahlia’s black curls sitting pretty across her chest as she walked inside holding a tray of cupcakes too beautiful to be devoured.

For this, I need pallet knives and wide stiff bristled brushes and vibrant yellow, phthalo blue, cerulean, cadmium red, russet, ink black, titanium white and lots of lively music to fuel my creative burst. I may be worried about what is happening with Gabriel and the press conference but I feel so darned loved and seen with him. I can’t help but feel more positive about my future. He gets me, he truly understands my needs and desires and appreciates my creativity. I pull my hair out of my face and put on music most people would never in a million years guess I love, then I push my sleeves up and start with big, bold strokes, laying out the basic shape and outline, the underpainting before I

The two classes I skipped were with him, so I hadn't seen him all day. After school, I went to paint with others, and they actually enjoyed the stuff we got at the mall. One used glitter to make a snow sparkle, another placed small gems, instead of painting them and made it look crazy realistic. Some electric colors that I bought made Daphne's northern lights look just amazing. I was glad about my purchase, and it gained me some respect from others in the project.

But I ignored that. I drank tea because my throat felt dry. I felt the warm liquid flow down my throat to my stomach. I placed the cup on the table and spoke. "Regarding that, I want you to make a light bulb that has its color. A light bulb that won't break if there is snow and can be used outside. The colors of the light bulb are red, yellow, blue, and green. Each light bulb is only one color. It will give color and light to the place especially when it's just black and white." I explained to him in a simple way that he could understand.

I looked at Luna, who was sitting on a stool, swinging her legs and eating a bowl of strawberries. "Luna," I whispered, my voice urgent. "I need ze help of a Great Revolutionary." Luna’s eyes lit up. "The Lobster Liberation part two?" "Better," I said, eyeing a can of Sherwin-Williams Imperial Red Semi-Gloss that a painter had left in the service hallway. "We are going to give ze vultures a taste of... Sterling Art." I didn't have a beard, but I had a thirty-inch circular silver serving tray.

The light across different hours. He nods. Goes to the back. Returns with three canvases, medium-sized, the size of a painting that is serious without being monumental. A selection of brushes. Paints he has chosen without asking, his selections based on what she described, the specific palette of driftwood and June light and coastal flowers. She looks at his choices. "Yes," she says. "All of it." He wraps everything carefully. She pays. He looks at her at the door. "The same subject in a different light," he says. "You know what you are doing."

Behind us, the yellow field stretched towards a horizon tinged with the soft pinks and blues of dawn. My brush moved with a fluidity born of a different kind of catharsis. Not the frantic covering of fear, but the deliberate, hopeful act of creation. Of envisioning a future. I mixed a touch of white into the yellow, creating a highlight on Lila’s hair. I added a tiny, bright red dot to her dress, a detail she loved.