What an imagination, they all said. What wonderful hopes and dreams.
Little Jess was gifted. She picked up her pencil and created a masterpiece. Her ventures in clay ended up in the cluttered cabinet in her grandmother’s lounge. Her class paintings had her teachers clamouring to be recognised as the first to nurture her talent. Jess with ie, for emphasis, breezed through her art school. Graduated and grounded in her abilities, she looked for the future and all the wonderful things that would come.
Life held something else. It started with rent, and too much online shopping. Bills, jobs, car tickets, bad dates. Suddenly, diapers and a permanent migraine. Dreaming, always dreaming for that chance to return to her art. Weekend getaways, kids at mum’s, husband glued to an animated screen. Finally, it was time. Jess took out her sketch book. She smoothed out the yellowed edges, and took out a sharpened pencil.
Just like old times.
She picked up her pencil but no masterpiece came. Her fingers shook.
Silence reverberated through the room. Then the lead snapped, and the pencil fell to the floor. Little Jess was gone.