"The Blank Canvas" by Alana F

     They were young, a completely blank canvas, and wow did they look forward to the
future. The young canvas loved looking at their parents and all of their parents’ friends and
seeing what beautiful works of art they were. Their dreams consisted almost entirely of
imagining what kind of unique painting they would become. Multitudes of ideas drifted across
their pure blank space. Castles in the sky washed over by brainstorms of microcosmic miracles
and colorful creations that poured from their unfiltered enthusiasm. Eventually, the canvas grew
older, and they were sent to school. Bubbling over with excitement, the canvas eagerly attended
school, wondering when they would learn to become beautiful works of art too, but their first few
years passed, and they were still blank. Then the third grade hit, and canvas pranced in,
imagination in tow. Finally, they would learn to paint. When they reached over, grabbing
brushfuls of a rainbow, a streak of red flashed violently across the canvas, blaring and harsh
against the stark white background. Looking up, the canvas saw their teacher, glaring daggers
and holding a red paint saturated brush. Shocked, the canvas stuttered out a weak “why?”
“You didn't follow my instructions,” said the teacher monotonously. The canvas was
stunned, mortified, and confused, but they didn't step out of line again. As the years passed, the
blank canvas was slowly filled up with angry splatters, awkward splashes, anxious stripes and
annoying specks.
They asked their parents why they had to let others paint them, when it wasn't others
blank space to fill, but the parents just replied with a dull “That's just how life is,” and another
smear of paint across the canvas’ diminishing ghostly pale complexion. By the time the canvas
was in mid-high school, all of the muddy colors that had been forced upon them bled together
and ran down the canvas, eventually turning them completely black. No longer did the canvas
dream bright colors and vibrant scenes, dark clouds and greyscale skies had taken their place.
Everyone worried about the canvas, and wondered why they had gone from so vibrant and
excited to so dull and unmotivated.
Eventually, everyone moved on, and canvas moved out. Once they had some time to
themselves, the canvas got angry. “Why should they be the ones to determine how I am. I’m the
one who has to live with it for the rest of my life?” So the canvas found some buckets of paint,
and slowly started to repaint themselves. The end result was perfect, much more beautiful than
before. Brilliant blue and shimmering silver seas gave way to vibrant violet flowers in gorgeous
gold and green fields, a purple sky, cotton candy clouds, and a rainbow in between. Despite the
shocked and slightly offended reactions of their peers, the canvas was never again anybody but
themselves. Sometimes, in the right light, the original image still shows through, but they quickly
find the thin spots in the second coat and cover them with love. The canvas resolved to never
let anybody paint their own expectations onto them again, because nobody deserves to be
forced to hide who they really are.