Alone Read Online Free PDF

on the organ. I used the yellow sparkle paint for the light that shined through parts of the stained glass windows and reflected itself on the brass pipes. I wouldn't know if I had achieved the desired effect until the next day when the painting had completely dried.
    The second painting came later into the night when I was just about to fall asleep and my head was resting on the side of the couch. It wasn't very comfortable but when I was about five or six, I would fall asleep like this all the time. I had to leave enough room for my mother and her boyfriend to sit next to me so I was left with a tiny space to curl up while watching some movie I probably shouldn't have been watching at that age. That was a time when things were different and I felt like my mom and I were close. Now I know we were close in proximity but nothing deeper than that. I had blond hair that were loose curls that swarmed over the side of the couch. My mother loved my hair and made sure it was clean and brushed all the time. She loved when people commented on how I looked, whether it was my hair or my eyes they commented on, it made her feel special. I don't think that's why I cut it all off, just to spite her. It was just easier to have it short. Just a little gel after my morning shower and I was ready to go. Of course she hated me for it, which did make me like the haircut a little more.
    The painting wasn't of me, but an imaginary, angelic looking child in the same position I had almost fallen asleep in. It was done in mostly dark colors except the child who was wearing a white dress and chestnut colored curls. She looked innocent while sleeping on the couch. It wasn't often I did paintings of people only because I think it's a little strange that someone would want a painting of a person that they don't even know hanging in their house.
    I fell asleep sometime after that, although it was a restless sleep. I was having nightmares again. It was always the same one, where I am painting in my apartment and I keep painting and painting and you could see me age, gray hair, wrinkled face, arthritic fingers, until finally I collapsed and died at an old age. I started having the dream a long time ago and I always woke at the end and never was able to get back to sleep afterward. It wasn't the fact that I died in the dream that bothered me. It was the feeling of loneliness which was overpowering and it lasted throughout much of the next day. The idea of having only my art and nothing else when I died was depressing. Even more so now, as I am getting older and still haven't had so much as a crush. I felt the ending of my dream was inevitable for my reality.

 
    CHAPTER3: CITY WOODS
     
     
     
    The feeling of depression and desperation caused by the nightmare still hadn't left my mind when I left the house in the morning. I had packed my bag with paints and other supplies so I could work on my wall but as I was walking to the building I realized that my heart just wasn't in it. I had to do something to get my mind on the right track so I could work on the wall and the paintings I had to do for the gallery. I decided to visit Mrs. Schneider at the church. She was usually able to help me with my feelings of despair.
    Although I had been visiting with Mrs. Schneider for years, I had never told her about my cutting. That was such a personal thing and I didn’t really want anyone’s opinion on it. I knew it would be viewed as incredibly wrong, but I couldn’t understand how something that made me feel so real and alive at the time could be wrong.
    I had only been inside of Mrs. Schneider's church apartment a handful of times since I had met her. It was a small place that was outfitted more like a studio instead of a full apartment. She was sitting on the love seat when I arrived and she called for me to come downstairs and join her. She was turning off the radio when I set my bag next to the love seat and sat beside her.
    “ What's wrong dear?” she asked