**A/N: this is an edited version of my previous story 'penciled emotions' which has been deleted. sorry :| it was changed to accommodate another oneshot I had written that happened to flow well with this story. enjoy(:

She looked out her window, from her spot on the window ledge. It was raining, the sky was crying. The sky was painted with shades of grey and tints of yellows and pinks. The trees shook with the sobs that violently wracked the sky, the thunder exploding as the sky cried out in rage. Her sad, grey eyes took in the tormented scenery, her hands rapidly capturing the moment on the yellowing paper.

Her music played in her mind was blasting some unknown song by a little band that was rarely heard of but somehow managed to create a large fan base, somewhere in the dark corners of the media industry. The instrumental pounded into her head, washing away all thoughts, numbing her mind as she did what she did best.

The angry voices of everyone she had disappointed, the voices of those whose lives she ruined, they were nothing more than whispers as she felt the warm numbness overwhelm her. All the dreams that were tearing at the seams faded into the white noise of the background. Silly hopes and friendships, trivial matters all became the backdrop to her play. Before the bridge of the song came, she was consumed by the nothingness that enveloped her. She was only aware of the beating drum and her hand furiously scribbling away. She didn't notice, but she had begun to rock back and forth as she drew, the numbness morphing into something new, something safe.

She registered a faint breeze coming from the rusty, old fan in the corner of the room. A passing thought told her she should turn it off; it was too cold to have a fan running in this weather. But did it really matter? It's not as if she would be going outside anytime soon.

But like every other thought that wandered into her mind in this state, she ignored it.

On the paper, leaves grew from branches and fell to the ground, tattered and torn by the wind that grew stronger and stronger. Lightning was dropping from the sky, hitting anything and everything. There was a tidal wave looming over the horizon, threatening to spill over the perfect hills, but somehow staying in place. The rain splashed onto the ground violently, streams and puddles appearing in every spot. Vines found their way into the forest of broken trees, suffocating and isolating the lonely trees. Stray rays of sun were seen poking out from behind the burly clouds, but were helpless against the thick persistence of the storm.

She felt the world dance at her fingertips; she felt lines of vibrant, neon colors flying around the tip of nails, synchronizing with her moves like a graceful dance. Her world was constantly filled with vibrations of music bouncing off the walls, the sound waves jumping around her head in a hyper frenzy. The colors followed the waves, clashing together and exploding, gliding along next to each other and spinning all around the room. They leaped and twirled and swooped in sync. They shot around like energized ballerinas.

She was constantly in that small white room. But it never stayed white for long. The walls were splattered with whatever color invaded her veins, the splashes large and changing every minute as the moments progressed. Wiped clean as the moment moved on, the white walls would return only to be splattered with some different color; maybe a red, or a blue, maybe with a purple or orange. Sometimes there were a myriad of colors that dripped down the walls, shaking with the sound waves. The waves compelled her to move her body, to feel the music move through her body like lightning, because after all, it was the lightning and she was the conductor. She was just the vessel that the jolt of everything passed through, leaving her violently shaking and smiling like a madman.

Crashing and spinning, the experiences merged together in that small room, surrounding her and bringing her into the air. She felt the joined power of every sensation surge through every capillary, every organ, and every inch of her skin and shock her brain with a jolt of adrenaline. Her eyes would shoot open, the blazing grey eyes alight with the colors of the world, dancing like flames in the dark of the night, and she would feel a crazed grin slather itself across her pale face. She would feel her cheeks burn with the intensity of everything swelling into her being.

Everything slowed down as the storm reached its climax, outside in the real world, she felt her eyes dart around from tree to tree, trying to capture each and every moment. She watched in avid fascination as the trees swayed one way and then were violently rocked the other. The rain ran down the length of the window, her mind subconsciously watching to see who would win the race to the bottom.

It was like an orchestra reaching the climax in its performance, everyone would be sitting at the edge of their chairs as the sound of the violins and the drums and the flutes and brass instruments melded together into a sound that slithered its way into the corners of their hearts. Their toes would curl in anticipation for the release, to let go of all that they felt.

With a blinding explosion of light, every color, every sound, every feel rockets into the air and blows up into a million pieces, showering the room with vibrancy and peace. The exhilaration of reverberating emotions and sensations combusted and clashed in a final dance.

A new intensity settled down and her hand moved faster than before. Not even glancing at the page, she drew what she felt. She drew what she saw. She drew everything. Her visual mind would have pictured that moment as grey, blue and purple energy channeling down her arms, and spilling onto the paper in jolts of static electricity. The thin, smooth lines of energy taking the form of a storm and imprinting themselves onto the paper. The paper seemed to glow in her mind, but her eyes registered only normal light, and there were sparks shooting up from the pencil as the electricity crackled and whipped around the wooden stick.

It was magical.

That was the only way to describe it. It was that moment when her numbness was the only thing present, the only thing sitting beside her. It was the only thing that welcomed her with open arms. It wrapped its cold arms around her and coaxed her to draw. Everything she felt flowed out the pencil tip in swift, fluid pencil strokes. They were her penciled emotions.

Suddenly, the music stopped.

And then, the moment shattered.

The wind stopped blowing and the rain died down.

She blinked.

And blinked again.

The pencil fell from her grip and the world came to an abrupt stop. She felt her body lunge forward as reality slammed into her with a reckoning force, smashing the breath out of her. She gasped, trying to retrieve some air for her lungs, her eyes wide and shining with emotions, like she was just pulled out of the water.

Once she felt the oxygen circulating through her bloodstream, she noticed the tears that were dangerously close to spilling over the rims of her eyes. Her eyebrows scrunched together as she wiped them and gazed at the droplets of water resting on her fingertips. Why was she crying? Didn't she know that crying was futile? It wasn't like she had anything to cry for, or anyone to wipe away her tears. Why would she even cry? Stupid.

Tucking away a strand of unkempt, mousy brown hair, she flicked the water off of her fingers and looked down at the paper in her lap.

To anyone else, they would have gasped at it, cringed at the emotion woven into every pencil stroke. They would have been in awe of the raw beauty.

But she hated it.

It wasn't good enough, nothing she ever did would be. There was always something missing. But she saved it, nevertheless. She ripped it out of the familiar sketchbook and stood up, stretching her long, thin legs before gliding over to her bookshelf. Removing some clustered plates and scarce belongings to the left side of the bottom shelf, she pulled open the latch, revealing a small compartment carved into the wall, filled with drawings and keepsakes. Slipping in the new picture, she closed the door and returned the items to their original place. Quickly dusting the shelf, straightening it out and making it look presentable, she hummed the melody to another random song, her thin, long fingers idly trailing behind her as she made her way around the room.

Standing up, she quickly surveyed the bare room, save for the book shelf, plain twin bed and barren desk, and smile tightly. Everything was in place; nothing gave away signs of what happened on the window ledge. She couldn't afford anyone knowing, it was too costly. She needed to keep quiet. She knew that those walls weren't really walls and that behind those traitorous walls, there were people.

After all, the last time she spoke out, it landed her here.

In the room made out of deceitful windows.