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I could feel Aurnia’s fingertips brushing along the wings of my phoenix.
I don’t know if it’s within the rules to draw something special for the application. I guess I don’t really care either. What I had to draw had to be drawn. It was like something that had to escape my soul before it was consumed.
Because I don’t really care about your art school. I already have my things I care about.
So if you don’t like this “art” then you can suck it.
Aurnia burned next to me, defiant, angry and stubborn.
Anyway, I drew this sun because a phoenix can be rebirthed from the ashes, but if it doesn’t have anything to rise toward it will always just stay there, in the ashes. I drew this sun, because his phoenix needed a sun. I drew this sun, because I wanted him to have it. And if that’s not a good reason to use for selecting a piece for an art school application than you can suck it.
Wait, didn’t I already say that?
I tucked the essay safely against the side of me, where she should have been, and looked upon the sun that Aurnia had drawn on the next page. My fingers trembled as I held it. My heart raced. But I was not cold.
I pressed the sun against my chest like its rays of coloured pencil could radiate through me. I closed my eyes.
It was raining in Dublin, but I had my sun.
It was raining in Dublin, but I knew what I needed to do.
It was raining in Dublin, but the rain could suck it.
I was going home.
