bioluminescence

the painter

(i don't know what this is, but i felt like writing it so here it is)

This time last year, the painter would be sitting on his stool. Sometimes by the lake, sometimes at the foot of hills. And sometimes by the lake at the foot of the hills. Spring had come and the sun bathed the world in a fresh kind of beauty and this time last year, he would be striving to capture it with his brush.

He'd paint pictures of little girls and their pet fireflies. He'd paint images of the Japanese cherry blossoms dancing in the wind. Maybe a Greek goddess in all her glory, or a mother and her newborn baby.

He'd keep them all. Sell none. They were all his after all. And for his generations to come.

But now, he lay paralysed and lifeless on a plain hospital bed, his fingers unfit to hold his brush and his feet incompetent to take him up those hills that he loved. He would never see the view from up there again. Never again, breathe it's refreshing, crisp air.

He saw white walls and silver instruments. White tiles and light hospital gowns. All his surroundings devoid of colour. Even the people, with their pale, sick faces. Such a colourless blue, such a terrible shade. A shade yes, but not a colour.

But the painter, in his mind's eye, still saw the candy floss in the clouds.

And little boys still laughed as they played past curfew.

The colours were still fresh and glistening on the canvas of his mind,

promising and soulful and bright.

And as long as there would be no more whites and sick blues, as long as the colours came with him, he was not afraid. He'd greet the reaper like an old friend.

(also, i'd like to dedicate this chapter to @Simply_Hiraeth because she's amazing! and her book is literally one of my favourites on wattpad! go check it out, you will not regret it.)