Creative Thursday

Hi!
There is half a day until I meet Cassandra Clare. I repeat, half a day!!!! I think I might cry when I see her....
In other news, it was year 13's last day today and I walked in on a girl writing "The chamber of secrets has been opened" in red paint on the girl's toilets mirrors. I told her it was awesome ;) I'll show you a picture sometime :)
So here's your creativeness for the week. It's another story in a picture from Celia over at Crazy. Crazy. Crazy. I love this idea! It forces me to write - so thanks Celia! I can't believe I was the feature story for last week's (or 2 weeks ago... I have a terrible memory...) challenge! Thank you so much Celia. :}

He started writing again, his pencil digging harder and harder into the paper. He forced words out of him, everything feeling wrong. She couldn't be described. He dug hard into the notebook, thick black lines covering his work as he scribbled angrily over the page. The lead snapped and he sighed, throwing it into the mess of his room.
Running his hands through his hair, he looked at his guitar, propped against his bed. Slowly, he picked it up again, trailing his thin fingers absentmindedly over the strings. His mother had always wanted him to play the piano - he was born with pianist's fingers, she always said - but he had been insistent in the music shop. He wanted that guitar.
Placing it carefully on his bed, he picked up his coffee mug and sipped. He made a face as the black liquid slid down his throat, cold and bitter. He put it down on the floor and scooped up his notebook, thinking about the way her hair curled around her shoulders, her eyes were always smiling, her laughter filling his heart and his mind and warming his soul. But no words came.
He started to write about her smile but it didn't sound write. He rubbed it away, the words on the page brushed off.
Music had always helped him escape his feelings, escape the real world. I guess this time he couldn't escape.

Thanks for reading ♥