How can one not see but feel as though it were there?

 

The grass greener than ever, the sky clear and blue as though

painted by the worlds happiest person on a warm spring afternoon in a

 field populated by various types of

 flowers and a river clearer than air.

 

Yet, we look not at the beauty but at the damaged. For this artist,

tall and slender, long flowing red hair and large brown eyes, sits

by her canvas. Staring blankly at the empty apparatus. Her mind,

although on the outside is filled with warmth, beauty and love.

Is crowded and consumed in sadness, hate and pain.

 

Tis on the note of a birds chorus hat she picks up her brush and paint,

and begins to alter her world around her.

As she paints the sky, she depicts strong black clouds. The grass of

her painting is dead and yellow, the soil dry and bug ridden…

the flowers are now longer large and full of lively colour but

dead and

surrounded by weeds. The tree is her picture, is not like the

one under

which she sits. Strong, brown and green as the grass, bearing

fruit that looks tastier than ice cream on a hot summer afternoon,

it is instead a

horrible shade of gray, bare and fruitless.

Her river is dry as the desert, instead of green shrubs

there a bare, black roots dead and bent over the

empty gully that sweeps through the little valley…

And under the tree, she paints a girl. Red hair, brown eyes

and a blue dress, but she does not alter the girls appearance in

the way she has altered everything else. Instead she

creates a glow of light…

 

Our artist then takes this picture filled with all pain, hurt

and sadness to her father.

When asked about the girls under the tree that seems to have a

glowing aura.

The reply was simple.

 

“ Without the hope of one, all would be covered in darkness.

But with it, there is still some light. ”

 

light is something our artist will never see. For she was the last of it.