A Blank Canvas(Kayla) All my life I'd been listening to my mother's opinion of me.

I had listened to her disparage my every step and decision. I'd been subjected to her humiliation and criticism, allowing her to primp and pluck and pull at my clothes, my hair, my body.

I'd watched her eyes dim with disappointment and shame as I grew into the kind of daughter she'd always hoped she'd never have. Nothing I'd ever done or accomplished seemed to be good enough for her. There was fault in every choice, flaw in every word...

So finally I had given up. I'd had enough of her belittlement and cold, cruel eyes. I'd finally realized that impressing her and earning her love, her praise, was an impossible feat that would only cause me heart ache if I continued to pursue it.

Therefore I quit my dancing classes, stopped showing up for piano recitals, and when the following school year rolled around I switched out of Latin and into Art.

I found my passion, my reason to live, amongst a blank canvas, the bristles of a brush in a blob of paint perched perfectly between my fingers. The long strokes stretching from one end of the canvas to the other was therapeutic. In those moments of painting I could block out of the world and forget my failures, my flaws, my mother's judgments...

I could release my mind and my soul and allow them to mingle, providing inspiration that flowed down from my brain and into my fingertips. What I created in those fragments of time was nothing short of a masterpiece I was proud of. All of my most personal thoughts were deep in the grains of the canvas; a beautiful portrait of the inner workings of my mind that allowed my paintings to say what my lips could not.

Of course, what my teachers and the contest judges saw in my pieces I can't say, but they must've seen something because that's what landed me here.

In front of this building.

I'd never been so sentimental about a pile of bricks carefully mortared in my life.

I shrugged the strap of my bag further onto my shoulder and took a deep breath. Through all of my hard work and long hours, impossible deadlines and constant negativity from my mother I'd finally fought my way through the reeds and landed myself exactly where I wanted to be, and I'd done it all on my own.

I'd been accepted to an art academy that would improve my abilities, encourage my unique style, and teach me new techniques to better myself, not only as an artist, but also as a person.

I looked up at the opaque sky above me illuminated with a million lustrous stars and sighed. With every darkness comes flecks of light, guiding the way to a better tomorrow, much like the night with its brilliant stars.

Much like my life.

Art had been my security, my hope, my light in the dark. It had given me a future I could look forward to, a life I could love, a means to an end that had once seemed so out of reach. Art gave me my place in the world. It showed me that there was more to my being than just what my mother, or anyone, thought of me. It showed me I had a purpose-to create something beautiful.

A cold wind ripped through the trees and caused me to shudder despite the warmth of my heavy coat. I'd been standing, staring, for long enough.

I was ready, more than ready in fact.

I walked up the concrete steps briskly and reached the two broad, Oak doors. Wrapping my hand around the ice cold handle, I looked up at the sky one final time and smiled as the stars twinkled, encouraging me, reminding me of a better tomorrow.

I gave the handle one good yank and stepped inside, closing the door firmly behind me.

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