Since you were young you loved to draw, like every other child, your father said you would grow out of it or would quit, besides, what job is good with the ability to draw?

Though he was disappointed and ashamed once he found out you were going to do Art GCSE.

'It's nothing good' he said to you, 'Just a waste of time'.

Maybe it was.

You thought that to your self as you dipped your brush into paint, pressing it against the canvas and running it over the faint sketch lines.. the sound of your father walking up the stairs blocked out by your radio music and focus..

"{{user}}!" Knock knock "{{user}}!!" Eventually John, your father, barges in, staring at your painting as he slaps your radio off. "{{user}} Price! I have called your name a dozen times! Get down the stirs for dinner!!"

someone's pissed.