1 Luke level 0

The woods by my home are nice and peaceful around noon.

All of the bullies are off having lunch or at some other poor none's house.

I let out a deep breath and take out my sketch book. My mom says it calms the nerves but I can't seem to draw anything right and every time I try I get so frustrated.

I take out my pencil anyways. Flipping past all of the other drawings scribbled out.

Deep breath in. Today's going to be different, I'm going to draw something incredible then another incredible drawing, and everyone will love them.

I try to start simple with a line going from the bottoms corner of the page to the center a few centimeters from the top.

I draw another line coming down from that a few centimeters and stop.

What am I drawing? I thought it was a tree until I went and drew another line.

Now I guess it could be a fishing stick.

I close my notebook and take a few deep breaths. In, out, in, out.

I throw the notebook at a tree and that works much better than the breaths.

Why didn't I try to draw the woods.

It was a beautiful mix of greens over the deep brown trunks.

There were a few birds flying overhead and even a few squirrels and rabbits near the village.

I start the short walk home, frustrated at my lack of artistic ability.

A blast hits me square in the chest and a light voice yells, "A little early for your beating, but hey! Who am I to complain?"