A short story I wrote for english...

Spoiler:

Heaven’s Masterpiece

By Christie, AKA Starlight

Every aspect of our lives could be made ultimately more precious if we follow the simplistic insight of a child. If we stop to gaze at the world with awe and wonder, perhaps the ugliness of the world might melt away to reveal nature’s true majesty. Despite how seemingly small and insignificant the task, we fulfil it in a way which is brimming with purpose and life, such as a child.

It had been months since I sold a painting. I found myself trapped in the endless black hole of empty artworks, unable to escape. Out of desperation, I carried my easel and canvas into our backyard. My daughter, Melody, faithfully trotted behind me. There I sat; staring hopelessly up at the perfect picturesque sunset, without a glimmer of inspiration. I slouched back and sighed, closing my eyes as if unconsciously praying for some kind of answer.


“Mummy,” my thoughts were interrupted by Melody’s soft, voice. I opened my eyes to see her kneeling in the soft, un-mowed grass, looking up at me expectantly.
“Sweetheart,” I smiled wearily down at her. I really didn’t have the time for her exhaustive questions but this one took me by surprise.
“When people die, they go to heaven don’t they? Like Nanna?”
“Yes sweetie, like Nanna,” I answered. I knew there were various ideologies regarding the afterlife; however none of them were simplistic enough for a five-year old to grasp. Melody went quiet. She became pre-occupied with studying a cyan butterfly opening and closing its wings on a singular white daisy. I returned to looking at the empty canvas in front of me.
“I wish I was in heaven...” she murmured quietly, her head still bent down studying the butterfly. My heart sank. I opened my mouth, but no words could describe what I was feeling at that moment. The last thing any parent wants to hear from their child is that they’d rather die than continue living. Melody was young; her life was still idling with potential.

I almost fell off my chair in order to get close to her; to hold her and let her know that she meant the world to me. She was my world.

“Why do you want to go to heaven sweetheart?” My eyes began to burn with tears, fearful about how I was raising my child. My hands firmly wrapped around her tiny shoulders.

Melody faced me with a brilliant smile.

“I want to have wings like an angel,” she replied softly. I laughed at my over reaction and lay in the grass, relieved and contented. Melody resumed her position, staring at the butterfly. She stretched out her tiny finger towards it and the butterfly took flight. I watched as Melody leapt up after her tiny friend, her ocean blue eyes darting around the garden, watching it fly. Then it struck me. I found myself lost within Melody’s world; a world of magic and mystery.
I eagerly picked myself up from the grass and once again sat in front of my canvas. I no longer saw it as blank, but instead the beginning of something new.

“Look Mummy! It’s flying towards the clouds!” Melody cried in delight, pointing at her tiny friend flying towards the crimson clouds. Her eyes were wide and sparkling, as if they were trying to absorb the entire world at one long glance. The sun’s final rays shone the brightest that day, turning Melody’s honey-blonde ringlets into threads of shimmering gold. Her sky blue, cotton sundress danced in the gentle summer breeze. Never in my life had I seen a more beautiful scene so I painted every detail onto my canvas; just as it was.

When I finished, my masterpiece still seemed incomplete. It was as though I was missing a vital part of what made the scene so magical. Then I remembered Melody’s wings. I dabbed my brush into the snow white paint, then let it delicately stroke the canvas.

I painted Melody’s wings just as I had envisioned; outstretched and wide, yet soft and dove-like, with not a single feather misplaced. Finally, the masterpiece was complete. It was by far the most breath-takingly beautiful piece of artwork I’d seen with my own eyes. I couldn’t take credit for it. Although I painted for hours under the moonlight, being careful to capture every detail precisely, it didn’t belong to me it was Melody’s masterpiece.

* * *

A year later we moved from our beautiful suburban home to the city centre. Neither Melody nor I wanted to, yet we had no choice. Melody didn’t cope well with the long car trips back and forth, stuck for hours on end in busy inner-city traffic. So we entered a new world, with starless night skies, and choking, smog-filled air.

Our new sky rise apartment was a cement box. The cheerful bird song of the morning was replaced with the loud honking of car horns. There wasn’t a patch of soft grass or sweet-fragranced wildflowers nor was there ever sunshine to brighten our day. It was a world of grey and I hated it. Although Melody maintained her sunny optimism, I knew she did too.

Despite the constant rain and drizzle, her spirit never seemed to dampen. I held her tiny hand as she slept. When you love someone as much as a parent loves their child, you can almost feel their suffering. Melody’s pain had become my pain. Every breath she struggled to take was shallow and petrifying. Her once rosy cheeks were pale and thin. Just rolling over on her side was torturous enough to make her scream. I couldn’t bare it any longer.

It had been three days since they moved us into the intensive care unit. I’d refused to sleep, Melody’s time was coming to an end and I didn’t want to lose a single second. Both physically and mentally exhausted, I rested my head beside Melody’s on her pillow. I was trying to stay strong for her, she’d been so brave throughout her ordeal, but I just lost it. I wept softly and held Melody’s hand tightly, I didn’t want to let go. I wondered whether she truly understood what was happening to her and then I felt her tiny hand squeeze back.

“It’s okay Mummy, now I am finally going to have wings.” The rain stopped and for the first time the sun’s rays pierced the clouds. They shone through the window and softly touched her face. Melody drew her final, treacherous breath and at last, her masterpiece was once again complete.

Such is the simplicity of a child. They believe the unbelievable, they seek to obtain the unobtainable and they’re willing to reach for the unreachable. Melody’s painted dream is now her reality. Today is the day she flew.

Also, why did you choose not to state explicitly what Melody was suffering from, that caused her physical death? I'm curious about that.

Okay. First of all, bravo- That was a great story. You captured the simple emotions of the story fantastically, and through your descriptive writing, you capture the reader and make them feel what the narrator feels. As a purely emotional piece, this soars and is one of the better short stories I've ever read.

My simple criticism comes from a purely structural standpoint. I do not think that it was particularily wise to state one of the lessons in your story at the start. That entire first paragraph, in my opinion, should either be moved to the very end or removed entirely.

That was an extremely sad story, almost made me cry and that dose not happen very much. You wrote it very well and i think you should try and get it published.

Have a read of my story that i posted up for people to read, though hardly anyone looks and comments on my work