Obsessive

• Foluke Veronica Ayeni , Grade 11
• Short Story
• 2018

Why is she so stupid!?
That was probably the first question that comes to mind when you fully grasp her situation. You see, right now she’s running, and she doesn’t like running, in fact, she doesn’t like doing anything that requires a large amount of effort being used. With all this fast paced momentum going on, the utensils bounced effortlessly up and down in their container, clattering and creating noise, which seemed to - probably but least likely- attract the attention of the fireball shooting past her. Soon she skidded, heading in a tangent just in time to dodge the small explosion the fireball emitted. It was a complete and utter disaster which ruined not only her town, but the rest of, you guessed it, the world. The earth had rumbled at first and then overturned the solid ground, then buildings began to rid themselves of their foundations, their structure and collapse and then followed the charging animals, full of fear and panic, which I might add, moved in ridiculously large groups to escape what it was they sensed. Though without the heightened senses like the animals, the humans believed it to be a ‘natural disaster’. No wonder there were so many losses now.
Her breaths came out in puffs, hard and heavy, almost solid like and her legs wobbled, almost giving out on her, but still she pushed forward, attempting to escape the next fireball being thrown her way. No matter how cold it was, you could clearly see how hot and bothered she was from the extreme activity. She couldn’t run. She didn’t have the stamina to do so. So now, you definitely know what’s wrong with this situation...except for the fact that she carried her art, art utensils and many other burdening items. Let’s not forget her camera. Her precious, most valued mint coloured camera stained with dried up paint. And that was most likely, kind of was, probably really, actually is the only reason why she was unbalanced, tripped over and landed heavily on her face. Without her hands to soften the fall, her face was grazed and knees too. What a shame, she definitely wasn’t like those characters in horror movies that are too unintelligent to analyse the situation or those that try to save someone/something and die doing so.
She remembered how her father had disapproved of her hobby, her art and love for it, but that love was strong enough for her to ignore him and paint secretly. What. A. Rebel. It wasn’t her fault she hadn’t realised she had become obsessed with it, how she couldn’t go one day without completing at least one piece.
When the sky’s mouth ripped open in anger, sending growls of thunder and hisses of lightning, she stopped collecting her utensils and stared. The sun pulsated waves of heat faster an faster. The fiery destructive bright balls of flames radiated like fireworks. And even then, she still itched to paint the beauty of the world’s destruction.