Candy Mouse
#1 of Stories
Here is the first part of a story about Candy's life. Enjoy!
Yes, I know I'm a mouse. If you want to do art, being a mouse is a MAJOR setback. You can hardly hold a pencil without falling over and making a big wierd circle on the paper. So...being a mouse artist isn't great.
I got to love drawing when I was 3, before my mum died. See my headband? That's the last thing my mum left before she was.....well....lets say she was taken by an evil force of nature. A TIN CAN. Who knew that my mum loved tomato soup? So much that she went in, licked some soup inside, and got cut around on her waist, so much that she was nearly CUT IN HALF.
So while this was happening there I was, sucking my thumb and waiting for an impossibility to come true. At half 11 and night I ventured out into the world of brambles prickling me around my waist. After searching for nearly the whole night I found half a mouse. Since I was only 3 at the time, all I could do was scream and shout until help came, which, thankfully enough, it did, in the form of a big black mouse. He took me to an orphanage.
As soon as we stepped through, we both got covered in paint. The black mouse made a hasty retreat after saying a quick goodbye, leaving me stranded there. A mouse with paint in her hair, pencils stuck to her and a brush on her tail came and helped me.
"New here? Don't worry. It's not too bad here, especially because we do art. Hope you enjoy it."
She took me to my room, which was brilliant. A portion of stone served as a table, with slithers of paper on it. Pencils and paintbrushes rested on the wall, and a number of boxes filled with paint were on another side. A pile of feathers with fabric on top was my bed, which was surrounded by pastels on the floor. I would nave adored it now, but it seemed a bit weird when I was 3.
By the time I was 5, I could draw a mouse, which came in useful for the 5 and under drawing/painting contest. I passed, so my reward was a pencil on the end of my tail, held secure by a metal ring.
When I was 7, a new arrival came barging in. There had been loads before, but this pushy, showy one caught my interest, especially when he had to share a room with me! So many mice were flooding in, we had to resort to sharing rooms, which was a terrinle cramp.
We had to share beds too, which was awful, because he tried to shove me out. I retaliated, so he told tails on me, which was painful. The punishment was being hit in the head by a pencil. My resolution was to get him back for that.
Oddly, he didn't tell me his name until we were both 9. His name was Toffee, which suited him, an that was his hair colour. After that, we bonded over the 6-10 drawing/painting test. Luckily, we passed, which was a relief. I didn't win before because when I was 6 I wasn't very good, and between 7 and 8 I was constantly annoyed by him. The prize was a paintbrush for our tails, and although I won one more prize, which was a pastel, I kept my brush, while Toffee took his off, stuck it on a pencil and named it a paintpencil.
When I was 10, my happiness there was sabotaged by my dad. I didn't know him at all and I still don't have a clue on how he found me, he came. After exchanging addresses with Toffee, I left the orphanage with a teary goodbye.