Short Story by Abby

        Paints a brushes were scattered all over.  The only paints in use were blues and whites and blacks.  Some brushes were wide, some fine.  She tried to mix it up and make it interesting.
        Swirling color met swirling color.  Her brooding oceans rippled, tumbled, and roared.  This was Ellen's favorite part of her creative side.
        She mixed color loosely on a a spare sheet of paper, her mixing paper, she called it.  The brush swirled first in the paint and then on the white paper close by.  Her mind just looked through her eyes in awe at the image she loved to create.
        It was truly something, she decided, that an ocean was strong and beautiful and sad all at the same time.  She wasn't figuring out that this was a symbol of who she was herself - strong and beautiful and sad all at the same time.
        Strong she was for the fact that when something happened, she just went on to what came next.  Beautiful she was for her youth, and sad for that what could go wrong in life did in hers.
        She painted her brooding oceans unaware that they were herself. or so I think to believe.  Ellen.