Unnatural Sketchbooks

Larson Nutting is a twenty year old girl running from her death with an enchanted, unnatural sketchbook tucked under her arm.

I hope you like it! It was an original idea and this story is personally my favorite to write so far :)

Chapter 1

Magic? No, Of Course Not.

No one told me that I was being hunted down. I had no idea I was being tracked since the day I was born because of my criminal mother. My dad, my older brother, no. No one told me. My unnatural talents lead me to figuring it out myself. But, let's not skip that far ahead. Let's rewind to back when I was fifteen years old, going into my very first year of high school, when I first began to put the pieces together in my mind..

I fiddled with my ratty black hair in the body-length mirror, upset by the beast faced toward me. I was sure my mother was much more beautiful than I. Yet I wouldn't ever know, since she is long gone.

My dad never told me why I didn't have a mom. I thought it was completely normal to have but one parent, until I entered Pre-School and all the kids brought their moms on the field trip to the zoo and held them as they cried because they were frightened by the loud tiger's roars.

I wasn't then, I never was, I still am not, I never will be frightened. Not ever.

And I was still yet to know what happened to my mother.

Growing up, all the girls my age nearly fainted at the sight of a bug or a spider, swooned over the boys and hated getting a speck of mud on them. For me, growing up was revolved around being rough and tough. I never cried when I scraped my knee or got in a fight. I never had a mom or a sister or any female figure in my life to be a role model to me. Just my dad and my brother who was moved out and gone by the time I was eleven. I was always one of the boys.

Which is why I was sickened by the ugly, manly woman in the mirror facing me. The first day of High School, and I wanted to be a girl. Not a boy. I wanted to wear short-shorts and blouses and high heels and do my hair and apply makeup to my face. I tried, believe me. But this is what came out. Pure ugly.

On top of my unattractiveness, I had also always been socially awkward. I didn't talk to a lot of people, and I never truly had a friend until fourth grade, when I met Dragos Beele, my best friend from then up till now. But even then, and still now, my only true friend, the only thing I know I love, is drawing.

I have been drawing since Kindergarten, when we had to draw a picture of ourselves for parent-teacher conferences and mine was basically a portrait. I knocked the wind out of that creepy old kindergarten teacher.

My aqua eyes wandered from my reflection to the sketches taped to the full-body mirror. Sketches and drawings of myself, that I drew in my sketchbook as I observe myself in the morning; every morning.. It was part of the morning routine. I crouched down and tucked my newest sketchbook with - what seemed like - infinite under my arm and grabbed the pencil beside it, and I stood up and straightened out.

Then I drew. I drew magic, as if I took the real image of me straight from the mirror and placed it snug inside my sketchbook.

I looked at my exact picture, then up at the mirror. My sketch, the mirror. My drawing, the mirror.

Then, without debate, I erased. I erased, I added, I fixed, I smiled.

Once I was complete and utterly pleased with the beautiful girl in my sketchbook, I let my eyes raise up to the mirror.

I dropped my dull pencil and sketchbook as a beautiful, startled girl stared back at me. Her flaws were erased and beauty was sketched. The exact picture glared back at her from the floor at her feet.

I smiled a beautiful, braceless, flawless smile.

My father screeched from a nearby room, "Larson, you are late, your bus is about to leave."

I posed one more time in my high-heeled, short-shorted, bloused, gorgeous body and turned to leave my bedroom and head off for the first day of high school, letting the thought of a magic sketchbook linger in the very back of my mind.


© 2020 Polarity Technologies

Invite Next Author

Write a short message (optional)

or via Email

Enter Quibblo Username


Report This Content