Photo prompt: © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
She knew from the moment she walked in that she was way out of her league. Her virgin palette was blinding amidst the well-worn, paint-that-will-never-come-off-anymore held by others. She felt blush suffuse her face and an even deeper shame at raised eyebrows and feigned disinterest. Apparently she did not even warrant curiosity. An outsider. A wannabe.
She almost up and left.
But she’d saved for months to afford the class, and she spent her last on paints and brushes.
The need to create pulsed in her blood.
She stood her ground.
Blending in or sticking out, she’d stay. She’ll paint.