â C H L O E â
There's a shade of red for every woman. Red is the most vibrant, passionate color, carrying the weight of love, warmth, rage, and courage all at once. It commands attention, stirring strong emotions, just like a woman does.
But those who choose red often carry an aggressive, impulsive spirit. Red is fiercely protectiveâno color marks its territory as strongly. It's always on guard, ready to defend its space against the rest of the spectrum. That's why I lean more towards blueâa color that's calm, steady, and confident. Blue feels dependable and committed, a peaceful contrast to red's fiery nature.
I sat nervously at my desk in Room 312 of the Arts Building, feeling uncomfortable. After witnessing that vulgar encounter between Quinn and Professor Brown just a few days ago, it's been hard to shake the image. I wasn't sure how I'd be able to keep my composure around themâor hide my reaction. I have no business prying into her habits or her twisted desires, but I can't help wondering what drives her to that kind of behavior?
"Good morning, class!" Professor Brown's voice cut through my thoughts, snapping me back to the present. I glanced towards the seat by the window, noticing that Quinn hadn't arrived yet. Maybe she wouldn't show up today. "Looks like we're missing three people today," Professor Brown observed, though I knew she'd barely notice anyone else if Quinn were here.
"Alright," she continued, "as we discussed previously, today you'll be expressing yourselves through artâpainting. Go ahead and choose an empty canvas at the back, by the easels. I'll assign each of you an extra color you must include in your piece." The class stood up, moving to the back to choose their spots by the canvases. My heart was still racing, but I followed along, determined to push aside the troubling images in my mind and focus on something else.
Professor Brown paced slowly in front of the art easels, where we were each settled at our own spots. "As discussed, you'll be using a maximum of three colorsâblack, white, and one additional color," she explained. "That third one will be your favorite color, the one you listed on your student profile last week." The whole class sighed in relief, me included. No one wanted to be stuck with a color they'd find difficult to work with.
"Now, before we begin, I'd like to hear how you interpret and explain your favorite colors first," Professor Brown continued. "Art isn't just about knowing the colors but understanding what they mean, what they signify, and how you would describe them in vivid, clear ways."
Just as she was finishing, the door creaked open, and there she wasâQuinn. Professor Brown turned her head and a small smirk appeared on her lips when she saw Quinn. I couldn't help but feel a wave of discomfort wash over me, especially after noticing her neck. She had done a good job concealing the cuts with makeup, but somehow, I could still see them faintly. "Well, Miss Grey, it seems you have a habit of being late, huh?" Professor Brown remarked, her eyes still locked on Quinn.
"My apologies, ma'am. I've just had my head wrapped around some... stuff from last night," Quinn replied, raising her eyebrows sarcastically but maintaining her steady gaze on the professor.
Professor Brown chuckled softly and nodded. "Alright then, Quinn. Come inside and find an empty spot; we'll start the activity in a few." She instructed. Quinn was the first to break her gaze and slowly walked past Professor Brown. I was so absorbed in the scene that I didn't notice the empty spot right next to me until it was too late. Quinn moved in my direction, her face blank and her eyes appearing distant.
She took a seat at the easel beside me, staring blankly at the empty canvas for a moment. Then, she raised an eyebrow and tilted her head to look at me. Her gaze was intimidating, but there was something deeper in her eyes that I couldn't quite figure out. I quickly averted my eyes, my heart pounding in my chest.
Before we began painting, Professor Brown asked random students to describe their favorite color as if explaining it to a blind person. "Your descriptions were all good," she said. "But remember, you're talking to someone who has never seen colors before. Just explaining what the color symbolizes or what things are associated with it isn't enough to help them truly understand."
She critiqued the first few students' answers, and the discussion continued for a while. Then, suddenly, she called out, "Quinn Grey!"
Quinn stood up, her arms crossed as she fixed her gaze on the professor. "How do you describe your favorite color, 'RED' to a blind person?" It felt like they were locked in a staring contest.
With a sigh, Quinn began, "Imagine you're in an unfamiliar room. Without sight, you struggle to navigate. As you walk around, your arm suddenly hits something sharp. A wave of pain shoots through you, filling you with anger and frustration as you realize you're hurt. When you touch the wound, you feel something warm and wet, a sticky substance flowing from it. That's red." Quinn's explanation hung in the air, striking and vivid.
I couldn't help but be impressed by how Quinn had perfectly described the color red. Professor Brown's face mirrored the same astonishment as she listened to Quinn's answer. "Impressive, Miss Grey. You didn't just describe red as a symbol of emotions like pain, anger, and frustration. You also gave a physical description of bloodâwarm, wet, sticky and of course, RED. You engaged your audience by creating a relatable scenario they could feel," she said, nodding approvingly before signaling for Quinn to sit down.
"Describing colors isn't just about their symbolic meanings; you have to incorporate other elementsâemotions, smell, touch. Many people don't fully grasp art because they limit themselves to visual interpretations. In reality, there's so much more to explore. When we start to understand and integrate these other factors, that's when we truly perceive the message of the artwork." Professor Brown's explanation resonated with everyone in the room.
After half an hour of discussion, we finally started working on our paintings. With only a limited palette, some of my classmates clearly struggled. But Professor Brown didn't mind how we used our favorite colors alongside black and white. Even if our favorite color only appeared as a tiny splash in the artwork, it was fineâas long as we stuck to those colors. It was a challenge, but I was really enjoying it. I decided to paint a dandelion floating against a backdrop of blue skies and fluffy clouds. I loved how it was turning out.
I was almost finished when I caught a glimpse of Quinn out of the corner of my eye. I couldn't help but notice her furrowed eyebrows and the fierce intensity in her eyesâshe looked almost angry for some reason. Her hand gripped the pastel, moving in quick, harsh strokes.
Curiosity got the better of me, and I tilted my head to get a better look at her face. To my surprise, I saw her eyes glistening with tears, as if she was holding back a flood of emotions. I couldn't see what she was painting, but it was clear that whatever it was was stirring something deep within her.
Suddenly, Quinn stopped painting. She bowed her head, closing her eyes for a moment before slowly opening them again. Reaching into her back pocket, she pulled out a small metal case. With a quick flip, she opened it and retrieved a tiny sheet of paper. My heart raced in shock as I watched her do something unimaginable with that piece of paper.
She pressed it against the tips of her index and middle fingers, cutting into her skin. Her eyes were ablaze with an intensity that felt almost frightening as she tore at her fingertips. Blood began to seep out, and without hesitation, she brought her bloodied fingers to the canvas, using the crimson liquid as a shade for her artwork.
It was profoundly disturbing and almost morbid to witness. Her expression remained blank, but I could sense the turmoil beneath the surface as she channeled her pain into her painting. Each stroke was a haunting testament to her emotions, transforming something so raw into a form of expression. I felt an unsettling mix of awe and horror as I realized the lengths she was willing to go to make her art come alive.
Our Arts and Humanities course lasts for two hours. Professor Brown gave us an hour to create our artwork, and in the last 30 minutes of class, she presented our pieces to everyone, interpreting their meanings.
"Chloe, this is a wonderful piece," she said, admiring my painting of a dandelion floating in the sky. "As I look at this, I can see that you are a loyal and trustworthy person. This painting conveys a sense of calmness, serenity, and freedom, and it shows that you appreciate the beauty of life's fleeting moments."
I couldn't agree more with her interpretation. I nodded and smiled in response, momentarily pushing aside the memory of the disturbing scene I had witnessed a few days agoâthe night she had been with Quinn in the staff room.
Then, Professor Brown picked up another artwork. Before she revealed it to the class, I noticed a mix of emotions flickering across her face. She shifted her gaze to Quinn, who had been silent since the activity began. Quinn stared blankly out the window, seemingly lost in her thoughts.
"Quinn Grey," Professor Brown called her name, causing Quinn to turn her head, her expression still blank. It seemed like something was weighing on her mind. "This piece is a lot to take in. There's a lot going on with this artwork." She examined the piece closely without showing it to the class, then looked back at Quinn. With that, she hung the artwork on the board for everyone to see.
My eyes widened in shock, and my jaw dropped as I took in Quinn's painting. It depicted a woman with her neck exposed, several cuts marring her skin, blood dripping down. In the background, a lighter image of a dead tree blended into the dark scene. The only bright color in the painting was the vivid red of the blood seeping from the woman's wounds. Most of the artwork was painted in dark shades of black and grey, creating a heavy, unsettling atmosphere. I found it deeply disturbing, especially knowing Quinn's twisted pleasure in making small cuts or slits on women's necks.
"Pain," Professor Brown began, her voice steady as she looked at Quinn's artwork. Quinn smirked at the obvious interpretation, knowing full well that the wounds depicted on the canvas screamed pain.
"It's not all pain, Professor," Quinn shot back, her tone dripping with sarcasm, causing the professor's eyebrow to raise in surprise.
"Care to elaborate, Miss Grey? What other emotions did you associate with this artwork besides pain?" Professor Brown asked, her curiosity piqued.
"Pleasure," Quinn answered flatly. It makes sense. For her, it was a twisted pleasure to cut into women's necks.
Professor Brown chuckled softly, shaking her head, but the look in her eyes told a different storyâthere was something unexplainable lurking beneath the surface.
"Pleasure is a small part of it, Miss Grey. But pain is the overwhelming emotion I see in this piece. In fact, it seems that the pleasure you've described only masks a deeper emotion underlying your painting. The pain isn't just about the woman's wounds; it symbolizes something much more profound. Trees represent life and growth, and a withered tree typically signifies a lack of life. The pain I see here is not just the physical pain of the cuts, but rather a reflection of your own painâyour pain related to her loss." Professor Brown's expression shifted to one of seriousness, underscoring her words.
Quinn fell silent, absorbing the weight of the professor's interpretation. Suddenly, she stood up, her eyes blazing with fury, her jaw clenched tight, and her fists shaking at her sides. She held a fierce, almost enraged glare at the professor before she stormed out of the room. Everyone was left puzzled, exchanging glances, unsure of what had just happened. The professor remained quiet, clearly aware that she had struck a nerve, suggesting that her interpretation was not only close to the truth but perhaps painfully accurate.