The brush swept across the canvas, throwing hues of lively colors on it. Neon purple, pink, green, and blue, slowly took the form of a party. I painted laughing girls in flowing gowns. Their dresses didn’t match the place, but that didn’t matter. It was my painting. I was going to be the one enjoying it as soon as it dried. I had a dress I had bought from my favorite store hanging in the closet, ready to be put on. I painted several cute guys standing by the punch bowel, smiling and laughing. After painting a karaoke machine with a stack of CD’s next to it, I cleaned my brush and laid it down to dry. The painting was perfect, now all I needed was for it to dry. I shrugged out of my smock and jeans, ripped off my tee shirt, and took the dress of the hanger. Man this would be a blast. I slipped on the silky fabric, the midnight blue shimmering as it glided across my body. The thin straps sat firmly on my shoulders. I went over to my vanity and pinned my hair up in a simple yet elegant bun, letting some of my natural curl flow down. After putting on some perfume to block off the smell of paint, and I went over and checked the painting. It was almost dry. Almost leaping with excitement, I hurried across the room and put on a pair of black high heels. After securing them and making sure they didn’t slide off my feet, I waltzed over to my shelf and picked out my favorite CDs. I gripped them tightly in my hand, and my face turned up in a grin. My last painting had been a food fight, and that had been fun- but I had higher standards for this one. I knew it would be an amazing night, and I wondered about the boys I painted. What would their names be? Justin would be the name of the cutest one, followed by David and Matt. I was after Justin. I walked over to the painting again, growing impatient. The name of the club it was at was called Primrose. I tacky name, but hey, nothing could be perfect. It was so close, only a minute or so and it would be ready. I remembered the last time I went for the food fight, and how angry my father had been he hadn’t known where I was. I rushed over to my desk, and wrote, “Be back in the morning- Taylor.” It would have to do. I went back and stood in front of the painting, reaching my hand out and dragging it across the canvas. It was ready. Then I did what most would consider impossible- I stepped into me painting.

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