Damaged Goods, A Priceless Return

the resolute silence that had become my sanctuary. Annual competitions were always a flu

ed metal and shattered glass shards, shaped into a soaring, broken bird, its wings outstretched as if struggling for flight. Each jagged edge, each sharp curve, tol

emotions that drove my chisel and torch. It was more than art; it was my autobiography, rendered in three

cophantic friends trailing behind her. Jermain Anderson, looking impossibly handsome in an artfully disheveled way,

s technically competent, but utterly devoid of soul, a superficial echo of a dozen other artists' work. It lacked the raw honesty,

arding, cleared her throat, silencing the room. She began to an

over the assembled students. "We had two entries that stood head and shoulders above

mine? A strange mix of relief and unease washed over me. I had

petition, we have a tie," Professor Harding announced. "Between Ms. Elia Ha

nufactured sweetness? A ripple of whispered conversations spread through the crowd. I felt a familiar tightness in my chest, a prickle of u

very different aesthetic merits of both pieces, the final decision will be made tomorro

known for his discerning eye, his appreciation for genuine artistry. Perhaps he would see past the superfici

down, murmuring something in her ear, and her expression softened. He stroked her hair, a gesture of affection that sent a familiar pang through me. He glanced at me th

formance. And I was no l

d was larger than before, drawn by the drama of the tie. Students, faculty

his presence commanding silence. Cheri, ever the opportunist, immediately detached herself from Jermain and rushed to his side, practi

ture that sent a cold shiver down my spine. Cheri's father was a prominent d

I once would have interpreted as reassurance. A foolish hope, like a tiny sprout pushing through c

reak an unusual tie. Both 'Resonance of Scars' by Ms. Hampton and 'Ephemeral Bloom' by M

d my

hen moved to Cheri's painting. He si

e can only be one winner. And that winner is..

red as if their lives depended on it. My world tilted. A sick, di

ms around Jermain, who was now clapping, slo

ally pleasing, also speaks to a broader, more accessible audience. Ms. Hampton's work, while undeniably

ourney of healing, laid bare for

n and kissed him, a deep, possessive kiss that left no room for doubt. Then, as she pulled away,

t it surprised even me. I looked around the room. Jermain, Cheri, Dean Albright, the indiffer

carefully feigned sympathy on her face. "Elia, darling," she cooed, her hand reaching

ing my arm away.

intensity. It just screams 'damaged,' doesn't it?" She lowered her voice, her words like poisoned darts. "You know, Jermain told me every

ords were trapped, choked by a sudden, o

o much to say, and nothing comes out. It's truly pathetic." She reached out again, her finger tracing the outline of m

om my throat. "He... chose... you." It was scrat

mphant smile grew even wider. "He did, didn't he? And he gets to h

ant step forward, a flicker of discomfort on his face. "Cher

just allowed her to win; he had condoned her cruelty. My last sliver of hope, the fool

was the calm of utter desolation. The world

ards the exit, my back straight, my gaze fixed on the light beyond the gallery doors. My "Resonance of Scars"

arrying me further away from the wrecka