Scarlett.

"Okay, guys. Remember to respect all of the paintings, don't lick the glass, and don't scuff your shoes on the floor to get that god-awful squeaking noise. I'm not going to make you go as a group or pair off, but if you're not going to look at the art, just sit down in a corner somewhere, okay? Be back here by 2:30. If you get arrested, I'm not paying your bail. I think that's it. Go have fun!"

Mr. Brewshka surveys the group of high schoolers in front of him. His speech finished, most of them wander off, their voices mixing into a low drone. He says a quick prayer for at least three of the twenty-two to take a passing glance at a painting or sculpture and meanders off in his black loafers towards the Rembrandts.

I study the map of the museum. The Yasuko Akiye Museum of the Arts has a detailed and complicated map, pointing the user to each individual painting in the building. I've been here many times before, so I don't need the map, but I read the name of each painting twice until every straggler is gone. Looking around, I mentally decided against the Picassos, Monets, Rembrandts, and Van Goghs, wanting somewhere a little less traveled.

I just wanted something new. Something a little bit different.
I found it that day.


A/N: So...this is a story whose plot was eating me up so I just had to start writing it. I know this first chapter is super-short, and probably most will be. And don't be intimidated all the arty names...I don't know much about fine art either. It was just part of the beginning. You don't have to be able to recognize a Monet from a Matisse (or Norman Rockwell from Dr. Seuss, for that matter) to know what's going on. I'm going to keep writing on this and see where it goes! (:

By the way, the italicized name at the top is whoever's point of view the story is in, because it'll switch.