Sep 22, 2011 17:37
The old man still sat with his easel outside his caravan. He’d been here all week, working on a seascape. The wind ruffled his gray curls as he sat and painted. He seemed so alone. No one had visited since he had arrived. He’d been kind to us children, so I waved and walked over.
The seascape was finished, but he’d added a portrait. It was a dark haired man with broad shoulders and eyes painted as blue as the ocean. I didn’t remember seeing any one like that around.
He sensed my confusion because he said, “That’s Bodie.” His eyes sparkled and his smile lit his whole face, taking years away. He must have been something in his day, with those curls, the deep green eyes and that impish grin. “Where is he?” And I knew I made a mistake when the light left his eyes. I started to apologize. He shook his head and put a cold finger on my lips. He took my hand and placed it on his heart. “He’s here.” He smiled, but sadly. “He’ll always live, here.”
Title: Painting
Author: Merentha13
Slash or Gen: could be either
Archive at ProsLib/Circuit: sure
Disclaimer: older lads/very sad
Notes: This was my original thoughts for another story I wrote, not sure why I thought of it again today... I guess it's just been a bad week...
merentha,
whenyouseethis