A story about a girl's oc

Original Character

Every day is the same. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing, in fact it was comforting. A collage of endearing character traits scattered Fran's friend group. Leo's obnoxious laugh, the way Dana tended to put her arm around people when she talked, and the way Connor always stood in the same spot in the lunchroom during lunch. Consistent was good.

Fran could be considered an average high school student, she worked at an art shop at night and drove to school in the morning. On Sunday night, however, she was an aspiring artist. She would tie her long, black hair into a ponytail and draw whatever characters came to her mind. This is where her trait shined.

Whenever she was stressed out, her hands shook. Not enough to make drawing impossible, just enough to mess up a good line. Fran was hunched over a worn wacom tablet, filling in her oc's eyebrows, when her hand slipped and a gash was drawn through her muse's face. In a fit of frusturation, she snapped her tablet pen in half. Needless to say, she was not a patient girl.

An Amazon order was placed. A tablet was put away. A young girl fell asleep on her desk. Business was not as usual. Connor was, miraculously, not there. Upon further inquiry, Leo said that there had always been three people in the group, following up with a snort.

Yesterday's events repeated again. But different. Except this time, a blue streak was painted over an originally red sketched dress, a joke went away with quiet chuckling, and any existence of Leo was laughed away by Fran's girlfriend, Dana.

Yesterday's events repeated again. But different. No mistakes. There was no one left to forget the forgotten. There was no one left to lose.

After work, Fran was locking up the backroom, when she noticed a flash of blue- no. Maybe red? Protocol said she had to check it out, so she went inside the dark storage room. Adorned with boxes upon boxes of art supplies, the dusty crates that usually leaned up the southern wall were knocked over. A white light shined out of a hidden door in the wall. Fran pressed her hands to paneling, and it opened to her touch.

She was standing there. A red and blue dress covered her stocky body. The girl turned towards Fran, giving Fran a glimpse of the drawings of her own friends up on the wall. Her friends smiled at her. Her hand's shook. The girl's gashed face looked horrified at Fran, and spoke six words.

"I drew you. How could you be here?" she questioned. Yesterday did not repeat for Fran.