She knew she was going to become an artist someday, but the question wasn’t when, it was how. Now, looking at her lopsided painting, she sighed. It almost seemed impossible. Almost. But her father once told her that nothing was impossible, nothing.
But, now her father’s dead, he’s out there somewhere, looking down at her, willing her to keep going. She knows what she wants, she also knows what she’s supposed to do, quit. At least, that’s what all the colleges that rejected her application did. They told her to quit. She wasn’t good enough for them, she was better.
As she ripped the paper off the easel visciously, she knew what to do. With each bold stroke, a new-found confidence built inside her. The paint hit the paper, becoming something extraordinary, something too unbelivable for words. But, that didn’t matter, she was an artist, she painted what she couldn’t put into words.
When she backed away from the masterpiece, she smiled, looking at the bright, starry sky that lit up in front of her.