Writing Prompt No. 43
She sits in a chair outside near the shrubbery she planted the previous spring.
The air is warm and the sun still bright despite beginning to set in the sky. She closes her eyes. The air is filled with the scent of jasmine; light, fragrant, sweet. She opens her eyes. All she sees are shapes and forms of colour splashing across her field of sight. The edges bleed into each other like smudges of paint running over a wet piece of paper. The lines formed by the thin branches appear in double vision, the edges rough, light falling between them. Her sight has been like this for some months now, failing month by month, day by day. She hopes every morning to wake and find the world sharp and clear. Yet every day she wakes to find further breakdown.
Nothing can be done. They said.
She had to take that devastating information and somehow live with it. How? When she told her mother and father, they wanted her to come home.
She was too vulnerable to live alone. They said.
She insisted. She’s still in her house. Her small house with the big garden.
The light is starting to dim. She finds this time of day the hardest. She needs to move inside before she can’t see at all where she needs to go. But the sun. That tiny piece of hope that sparkles through the leaves. The colour fills her eyes. She puts her hands to her face as if tracing the fall of light through the air. She hadn’t meant to look. It was just so compelling. The sun hidden by the moon’s shadow on a clear bright day.
Don’t look. They said.
She didn’t listen. She looked. And now her life is changed.
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