The tree lays dulled by the gloomy greyish- brown shades.
Shrouded in solitude and misery, I stand staring with my brush sheathed subtly between my index finger and thumb. The oak stretches towards the heavens with its branches, like the arms of an angel, veiled in luscious green. The angel however, lays bare on the canvas, deprived of her divine glow. No matter how elegant I try to be, my leaves do not resemble those that Ma paints. She would simply swipe the brush out of my hands and cloak the skeleton of the oak bringing it to life with her gentle strokes. I had always relied on her to complete the picture. The current leaves look withered and fragile, much like Ma's condition. She hasn't been getting out of bed lately, she tells me she is …show more content…
Down
Here
I hear the echo of the doctor’s words.
“Mother (...) severe case (...)Pneumonia”
The assassin approaches quietly, disguising his sinister intents as a cold, hiding under names that seem benign.
Ma lies encased under layers of blankets and bed sheets. Her nemesis consumes her life, bit by bit with the irrepressible cascade of time. Her body has become frail. Her face is completely drained of the lively glow like a flower left wilted after being trodden upon by an oblivious animal.
I caught a glimpse of a lifeless brown leaf swaying away from the Oak through the window. Life that overflowed just a few days ago is being diminished by the cold hearted winter. The fate of the king began ringing in my mind. It felt as though her life is in some way linked to that of the tree. The thought of me being alone, abandoned first by gran and now ma made my stomach churn.
The easel stood in the corner of the room as it was left, with the image settled upon it, windowing a fairy-tale world. Like the painter the tree captured into the painting no longer bears any resemblance to the one I see.
No. The Oak always blossoms again after it has been embedded with life by the exuberating
Shrouded in solitude and misery, I stand staring with my brush sheathed subtly between my index finger and thumb. The oak stretches towards the heavens with its branches, like the arms of an angel, veiled in luscious green. The angel however, lays bare on the canvas, deprived of her divine glow. No matter how elegant I try to be, my leaves do not resemble those that Ma paints. She would simply swipe the brush out of my hands and cloak the skeleton of the oak bringing it to life with her gentle strokes. I had always relied on her to complete the picture. The current leaves look withered and fragile, much like Ma's condition. She hasn't been getting out of bed lately, she tells me she is …show more content…
Down
Here
I hear the echo of the doctor’s words.
“Mother (...) severe case (...)Pneumonia”
The assassin approaches quietly, disguising his sinister intents as a cold, hiding under names that seem benign.
Ma lies encased under layers of blankets and bed sheets. Her nemesis consumes her life, bit by bit with the irrepressible cascade of time. Her body has become frail. Her face is completely drained of the lively glow like a flower left wilted after being trodden upon by an oblivious animal.
I caught a glimpse of a lifeless brown leaf swaying away from the Oak through the window. Life that overflowed just a few days ago is being diminished by the cold hearted winter. The fate of the king began ringing in my mind. It felt as though her life is in some way linked to that of the tree. The thought of me being alone, abandoned first by gran and now ma made my stomach churn.
The easel stood in the corner of the room as it was left, with the image settled upon it, windowing a fairy-tale world. Like the painter the tree captured into the painting no longer bears any resemblance to the one I see.
No. The Oak always blossoms again after it has been embedded with life by the exuberating