Monique Johnson :: Art is Dangerous

After growing up in a family of six children, she being the second eldest, Monique had a few things to say about people who didn’t know how to follow the rules. They were put in place, first and foremost, for a reason. It may not be a reason people understand, nor may it be a reason people like, but there were rules and guidelines to keep people safe. She could go on and on about rules, mostly because she’d given the “we need rules” speech to all four of her younger siblings when her elder brother copped out and decided not to do it. Men. Figures. To put it simply, rules were like the “Do Not Enter” signs on exit ramps to the freeway. You don’t drive that way because it’s dangerous and you can cause a car accident. They were also there because someone had probably done it once before.

Monique could still remember rolling her eyes at the sign when she was fifteen and learning the rules of the road.

Now that she was older, more cautious but not overly so, she took some rules more seriously than others—especially when it came to art. Earlier that day she had been sent into the back room of the design studio to help her professor organize the supplies. New product had just come in and, to be honest, Monique Johnson wanted to be the first to see the beautiful new inks, brushes, markers, and various other items. She changed before heading back to meet her superior, removing a colorful dress of red, white, and yellow and replacing it with a blue “Children’s Miracle Network” t-shirt and a pair of dark wash blue jeans that clung to her legs as if they were spandex. She looked good in jeans; don’t be upset if your look isn’t better. Monique got the shapely figure she had from her mother. As did one of her other sisters—they were always competing as teenagers for the better look.

Usually, she won.

Arriving in the back room, Monique found that her professor wasn’t there just yet. Perhaps he was still on lunch break? She sighed to herself before putting down her large tote bag of a purse down on the floor by the door and rummaging through it for her iPod. It was purple with her name engraved on the back. Popping in the earbuds, left then right, she turned on the device while standing and shaking the iPod around for it to find a song. Technology was so cool these days. Alicia Keys began to play, Monique humming along with the tune and shoving the MP3 player into her back pocket. She supposed as she waited she could tidy up. This room looked like it could really use some help. For all the order out on the floor where students ran amok with their projects, this room did not see any love.

Moving to the back where metal shelves were filled high with canvases, paper, various pieces for still life, and other objects ranging in weight and size, Monique started to move items around. There were orange taped lines on the floor where boxes and such were not supposed to pass over for safety. Getting on her knees, sighing at the horrible display being made here by peers and professors alike for the new students, she pushed the box back. “Everywhere I'm turning, nothing seems complete. I stand up and I'm searching for the better part of me...” Alicia Keys played through her earbuds as she worked, all other sound being blocked out. Someone called her name from the other room and she didn’t hear it. In fact, Monique didn’t look up from the boxes she was reorganizing under the shelves until a glass jar shattered not far from her right hip. Carefully picking up the pieces after making sure she hadn’t gotten any on her, sneakered feet started to get her to stand before she stopped, dropping the glass as she let out a shocked cry. The shelving, which she had thought had been secured to the wall, began to tip and fall forward toward her.


Curled upon her knees on the floor, arms folded over her head for protection, Monique heard nothing but silence. Her life had flashed before her eyes when she thought she was going to be crushed by the heavy metal structure that now lay felled against the floor. Her heart hammered in her chest, a beating of the drums, and she panted but tried hard to calm herself and not get hysterical. That had been something scary! Yet she could tell she was alright and after a delay lifted her head slowly, turning it to the side so she could see around her puff of dark hair that was held back with a headband. There was nothing within two feet of her person other than the white earplugs that had fallen from her ears when she crumbled to the floor to protect herself. Even the metal of the shelves were bent creating two halves of a circle.

“Oh my Lord…Girl, what did you do?” whispered the young woman as she sat up, quavering, on her knees with her arms crossed over her chest. “What is that?”


“What was that sound?” came a voice from outside the doorway, several pairs of feet coming toward the entrance. Monique looked up at three students and her professor who had rushed to the scene. “Oh my God! MJ, are you okay?”

“Ah…yeah, I’m fine.” Aside from a few pricks of glass in her forearm from where she had leaned against the broken jar, she was going to be okay. A Band-aid would fix those small cuts up right quick—it would take more to explain what had happened to the shelves. For that, Monique had no explanation. And as her peers helped her stand, taking her hands carefully, moving her away from the scene, she looked back at the shape of the shelving. Those brackets were bolted into the wall only minutes ago! They had to have been for they were too heavy on their own and unsafe to be around without the support of the cinder block wall behind it. Eyes flicking to the white paint, she saw six holes in the wall where the long bolts were supposed to be mounted. Turning her gaze to the floor and unable to find the bolts she frowned. Was this some kind of prank? It wasn't very funny and definitely not appreciated. Monique sat on an art stool with her hands between her knees to keep them from shaking further than necessary in front of the group. Somewhere in the distance she could hear her professor apologizing for the incident, telling her that he was calling school security and health services to come make sure she was okay. All she could do was nod and think about her scare.

Meanwhile, in the backroom that had been vacated, a devious little creature shook it's head before disappearing. Six bolts clanked on the hard stone floor when it had gone.