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 cold with her voice quivering. Her condition seems to be worsening day by day. The tree is a childhood companion, a safe haven, a symbol of warmth and nostalgic memories of the two of us and our late grandmother. She would have tea parties complete with dollies under the shelter of its branches. Time would tirelessly pass as we immerse in Grandma's tales of brave Knights and Kings, executing justice over the felons to protect the innocent. “The king could not be killed," she had said, "no matter who tried to take his life. His kingdom flourished with prosperity and his subjects lived peacefully for generations under his rule. Invaders, driven by greed and jealousy were making countless attempts, pursuing all kinds of methods to defeat him and take over his kingdom. However they were all futile. The King kept escaping the frigid clutches of death that pawed at him like a cheetah worrying its prey. On the brink of surrender the exhausted invaders fashioned one final strategy. They sent a very beautiful spy of unsurpassed splendour to uncover the secret behind his immortality. The king foolishly succumbed to her and it was discovered that he had his life stored into a tree which was a part of a huge forest. The spy seduced him into revealing …show more content…
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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