Making plan or letting it go?

I started shaking with fear and panic, which came over me like drugs, and I was so scared that no one could imagine it. Although, maybe the man who sat here before me giving away a piece of his nerve cells or maybe life for some fucking painting. I wonder if I can finish it, if I can get out of here alive or if I’m just going to get stabbed like a pig and smear my blood all over those damn sunflowers? What am I supposed to do…

“Wake up” went through my head like it was a fleeting moment.

Exactly! It’s all just a dream, right the horror that I am now experiencing is quite real. You need to wake up! ” Wake up, wake up, wake up.” Those words kept coming out of my head.

“Whether you draw or not.” Annette sounded a thunderous voice, moving away from her ecstasy from her past. She stuck a knife in my cheek, but not to the point of cutting it. It was more like a reminder that I had no time to relax.

“Okay, okay! See. I’m already drawing again.” I slowly reached for the tassels and took one of them. Demonstratively showing what I was about to paint. I showed her that she should remove unwanted weapons from my face. She smiled approvingly and went to her seat at the window.

Why the fuck can’t I wake up? I have to try harder and draw at the same time, who knows if I could even wake up now. I have to try to finish this fucking painting. I have to figure out how to protect ourselves from it if it does decide not to let me go. I can smash this or any other painting into her head, like Tom&Jerry, so she can’t get out of it that easily. To restrain her actions and buy time to run out of this hellish place. I also have brushes that can pierce her neck if I apply a lot of force. The easel is also strong enough that I can break her head with it or at least disorient her. Maybe I can take the knife away from her? Of course, it is dangerous for me, because I’m very clumsy, yet suddenly I’ll just cut my hand, what with a torn hand I will do than? And first, I can throw a glass can of dirty paint water at her, so I can dazzle her with this stuff. I can throw paint too. But the most important thing is to get out of this room.

I continued to paint, but my brushstrokes were not as confident and light as before. Everything was done by shaking hands, and it did not help me to make this picture “perfect”. My eyes fell on the door that was right in front of me. I felt the key in my pocket, but the realization that in a stressful situation, I could never open it up with them, I figured I’d just knock the fucking door down.