Derrick was sitting on an empty park bench, staring at the towering buildings across the narrow waters. It was a cloudy day but the sun still tried to break through the grays.
“What I’m saying is there are no guarantees.”
Yes, that’s what his oncologist said earlier that day. Derrick is a twenty-five year old aspiring young artist who has always looked forward to sunrise and waited for sunsets. The sun, to him, was his muse. He could paint a heron gliding over the horizon smeared with colorful hues. He could sketch magic in sunlight, make the images come alive— until leukemia took its toll. He had already lost his hair. Today, he woke up losing his hands. He couldn’t control them, shaking and trembling as if saying they’re too scared.
With tears in his eyes, he said a silent prayer. Above the towering buildings across the narrow waters, the sun still tried to break through the grays, streaks of rays piercing through the clouds.
Now that’s a guarantee of a sunny day. He smiled.
Word Count: 175
© 2016 Maria. All Rights Reserved.
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