A Broken Tales

His Last Masterpiece

Writer: Enid Wrights

"I-Is she not h-here y-yet?"

A tear escaped from my eye upon hearing his nearly cracking husky voice. That had been his question since he was admitted in this hospital three years ago. His tone was too hopeless, too tired, and how I wish I could do something to cheer him up. Unfortunately, whenever I attempt to make a move, he stops me and tells me that he’d be happy only if he sees the girl he’d been rooting for all his life.

And, yes. You got it right. I love him. I’d loved him since we were in high school. He knew about my feelings for him, but he never loved me back. He’d been seeing me only as his sister.

“I told you, she won’t come. Stop hoping, will you?” I wiped my tearstained cheeks as I tried to calm myself down. I took a step closer to him and showed him the orange that I was peeling off a minute ago. “This orange is sweet. Try it,” I mumbled in a low tone between my sobs.

I was about to feed him one when he immediately shook his head and faced the other side of his bed, completely ignoring my presence.

I heaved a deep sigh and sat on the nearby sofa, eyes still fixated on his back. He was now skinny. Gone was his perfectly-shaped figure that women used to admiringly look at.

After moments of deafening silence, he spoke. “I feel my end. I am afraid that I can wait for her return no more,” he uttered which brought pain to my chest. I hate it when he loses hope for I never did.

“You won’t die, okay?! Cut that illusion of yours!” I shouted which made him turn to me with a weak smile plastered on his pale face.

“I’m diagnosed with stage 4 leukemia, Saira. Have you forgotten? Sooner or later, I’ll die—”

I pushed the nearby table harshly which shut him off. I slowly walked towards him with tears rolling down on my cheeks. I couldn’t help but cry.

“I said, you won’t die, Migo—”

He pulled me closer to him and wrapped his thin arms around me. “Stop lying to yourself, Saira.” His words made my cries louder. “Shh, don’t cry,” he added. His soothing soft voice sent chills down my spine.

He let me go as I spoke. “How can I not cry when you keep on spouting words that breaks my heart even more?”

He faked a smile. “Can you do me a favor?”

I nodded. “Anything for you, Migo. What is it that you want?”

“Kindly grab me a sketchpad and a pencil. I want to create my last artwork before dying,” he whispered.

“S-sure,” I replied. I was hesitant for the doctor said he should not do anything aside from resting, but he seemed helpless, and this was the least thing I could do for him.

I hastily ran to the store that was located just a few blocks from the hospital. After buying what he needed, I ran back to his room.

“Here,” I said, panting. I placed the materials on his table as I watched him get ready to draw.

His eyes glittered in amusement the moment he touched the things I bought. Well, I couldn’t be surprised by his sudden reaction. It’d been a long time since he'd held a pencil.

“It feels different, but I was astonished. The magic of this buddy of mine seeps through me,” he uttered, smiling from ear to ear.

By that wonderful sight, the beating of my heart became at ease. I fished my phone out of my pocket and took a picture of that moment to remember. I then made my way to the couch and stared at him while he started with his work.

As he sketched, his smile grew wider. He looked like a kid getting satisfied with his drawing for his activity in art. He seemed too priceless to have and too vulnerable to touch. And then I wondered what his last masterpiece would be.

He was done after moments. I saw how delighted he was while staring at it.

“Saira,” he uttered and motioned me to come closer to him. His eyes were still fixated on his artwork. When I sat on the side of his bed, he spoke. “Beautiful.”

I drew nearer to him and took a glance at the sketchpad, and I was shocked to see my face on it. From the thickness of the lashes to the roundness of the eyes, I knew it was me. It’s as if I was staring at my reflection in the mirror.

He handed it to me. “I am satisfied that my last masterpiece was the image of the person I hold dearest. I can now rest in peace.”

At that moment, I was certain that he was tired of fighting for his life. When his eyes were completely shut, tears continuously streamed down on my cheeks. I closed my eyes, stopping myself to see how the doctors tried to bring him back. My ears went deaf, refusing to hear the words that the doctor said after doing everything they could to revive his consciousness but failed.

Years passed and I found myself sitting beside his grave while holding the sketchpad that he left me. I smiled bitterly as I touched the tip of it.

“Five years ago, I badly wanted to believe that it was I that you drew, Migo. I even lied to myself, telling it really was me, that I was your last masterpiece, but reality slapped me hard.” I flipped the pages of the sketchpad until I reached the spot where his last artwork lies. “This woman looked exactly like me, but I know that it’s not me.” I stared at the lowermost corner of the sheet where six letters were written, seemingly engraved with love. “It was Dabria, my twin sister who married your best friend without you knowing. Until the end, it was still her. I was there with you all those times, I never left you, but I failed to replace her name that was carved on that pure heart of yours."