The rose painting
I have visited my Grandmothers house several times when she was alive, but when she passed last spring, it hasn't been the same. She was a painter, and painted beautiful works of art. I remember every year for our birthdays, she would gift me and my cousins beautiful paintings. She had an artistic eye, and would see the world differently. A simple coffee pot would be a spaceship, or a water bottle could be a racecar. She got along well with us as kids, but when we grew older, we all had work to do, new anxieties every day, and more of a grasp on reality.
Her house smelled always of fresh paint, and her clothes were always tattered in splotches of paint. My parents thought she was too irresponsible, and never took care of herself, but let me tell you. If we were all in a zombie apocalypse, she would be the last to survive. She saved me from drowning in a lake once on family vacation. Her quick reflexes, despite her age, saved me.
After her passing, we cleared out her house. Her paintings could be worth some money, but I wanted to keep all of them. Yet I only have so much wall space. All of her paint, brushes, and canvas were pushed aside, and either sold or thrown away. I could not control my families actions, so I just went through what was important to me. I went through boxes of old toys, yarn, art supplies, ornaments, decorative items, clothes, perfume, and barely found anything close to important to me. But then I went through the attic. Untouched by anyone in years, and covered in dust, held secrets not even I could understand. My eye was drawn to something shiny in a box. Inside held a necklace made of faux silver, and earrings made of random things like paperclips, cotton balls, and leather. At the corner of my eye, I saw a canvas in the corner of the room. It was facing the wall, and looked pretty old. I turned it over, and what was facing toward me was unbelievable. A gorgeous painting of a single rose in darkness. It's as if it were taken with a camera, so realistic, and beautiful.
I took the painting home later that night after going over some more things with my cousins. I hung the painting on a space of wall next to the door of my room and the bathroom. I could not stop looking at it, but I eventually went to bed. I woke up the next morning with a killer headache, and a numbness in my legs, abnormal but okay. I shook the pain, and got in my car for work. But in the corner of my eye, I saw someone in the rearview mirror. It couldn't of been my wife, she was at her sisters, and my son was with her. I looked back, and saw nothing. Shrugging off the feeling, I headed toward work.
On the drive, tragedy struck. A man on a motorcycle flew off the vehicle, and flew face first into the back of a truck, arms and legs contorted into unnatural positions. The shock caused the car in front of me to speed into another car, ramming right into another car, eventually, leaving me in the center of a massacre. Me and my car strangely unharmed in a circle of menace. I didn't know if I was dreaming, or if this was a prank somehow. What should I do, all of the adrenaline rushed into my body at once, forcing me to shut down.
I woke up at the hospital. My wife, and son laughing in the corner. I questioned them to what happened, and my wife told me I had fainted in a car wreck, yet I left with not a scratch. My mind went to the rose painting for some reason. Why had this happened after I got the painting. Who knows, but I missed work, and my boss was going to be pissed. I left the hospital, despite not needing any medical attention, and headed home with my wife and kid. But, on the way home, we witnessed yet another tragedy. A car had completely gone bonkers and was ramming into every car in its way. I pulled over into the nearest place, some random credit insurance building and waited to call the police. Of course, my phone was left at 0% and naturally my wife left her cell at her sisters. Thankfully my son has a tablet he can use to communicate with his cousins. We got a hold of my brother, who was able to call the police. My luck only seemed to worsen after that.
I had the feeling I was being watched anywhere I went, and had grown a terrible sense of paranoia. I has gotten to the point where I was afraid to leave the house, and had to work from home.
My wife had noticed my sudden paranoia, and suggested I go to a therapist, which I declined at first, but eventually agreed. I never should of gotten into the car. All I can remember is screaming, shouting, glass breaking, and fire. A car crash, but this time, I was in it. My wife was dead, and I couldn't do anything about it. As for me, not a scratch. My son was barely alive, but breathing. I was willing to pay doctors all I had to save him. They couldn't save him, even with all the money. I no longer left the house. I only stayed inside, and did nothing all day.
You're probably wondering," its the painting isn't it. The rose painting killed your family." But, that's not what happened. It actually protected me. My grandma had locked up the painting, for she didn't need any more protecting. She was ready to go, and when she put it away, she passed on calmly, like a swan upon a lake. As for me, I should be dead. I should have been dead since the first accident I witnessed, but the painting didn't cause the accidents. I wish I could thank my grandma for the rose painting, but now is the time to put it away. Who knows, maybe I'll die minutes after I put it away, or maybe ill die when I'm 60.
Cherish your loved ones, for you never know when something is going to happen
Her house smelled always of fresh paint, and her clothes were always tattered in splotches of paint. My parents thought she was too irresponsible, and never took care of herself, but let me tell you. If we were all in a zombie apocalypse, she would be the last to survive. She saved me from drowning in a lake once on family vacation. Her quick reflexes, despite her age, saved me.
After her passing, we cleared out her house. Her paintings could be worth some money, but I wanted to keep all of them. Yet I only have so much wall space. All of her paint, brushes, and canvas were pushed aside, and either sold or thrown away. I could not control my families actions, so I just went through what was important to me. I went through boxes of old toys, yarn, art supplies, ornaments, decorative items, clothes, perfume, and barely found anything close to important to me. But then I went through the attic. Untouched by anyone in years, and covered in dust, held secrets not even I could understand. My eye was drawn to something shiny in a box. Inside held a necklace made of faux silver, and earrings made of random things like paperclips, cotton balls, and leather. At the corner of my eye, I saw a canvas in the corner of the room. It was facing the wall, and looked pretty old. I turned it over, and what was facing toward me was unbelievable. A gorgeous painting of a single rose in darkness. It's as if it were taken with a camera, so realistic, and beautiful.
I took the painting home later that night after going over some more things with my cousins. I hung the painting on a space of wall next to the door of my room and the bathroom. I could not stop looking at it, but I eventually went to bed. I woke up the next morning with a killer headache, and a numbness in my legs, abnormal but okay. I shook the pain, and got in my car for work. But in the corner of my eye, I saw someone in the rearview mirror. It couldn't of been my wife, she was at her sisters, and my son was with her. I looked back, and saw nothing. Shrugging off the feeling, I headed toward work.
On the drive, tragedy struck. A man on a motorcycle flew off the vehicle, and flew face first into the back of a truck, arms and legs contorted into unnatural positions. The shock caused the car in front of me to speed into another car, ramming right into another car, eventually, leaving me in the center of a massacre. Me and my car strangely unharmed in a circle of menace. I didn't know if I was dreaming, or if this was a prank somehow. What should I do, all of the adrenaline rushed into my body at once, forcing me to shut down.
I woke up at the hospital. My wife, and son laughing in the corner. I questioned them to what happened, and my wife told me I had fainted in a car wreck, yet I left with not a scratch. My mind went to the rose painting for some reason. Why had this happened after I got the painting. Who knows, but I missed work, and my boss was going to be pissed. I left the hospital, despite not needing any medical attention, and headed home with my wife and kid. But, on the way home, we witnessed yet another tragedy. A car had completely gone bonkers and was ramming into every car in its way. I pulled over into the nearest place, some random credit insurance building and waited to call the police. Of course, my phone was left at 0% and naturally my wife left her cell at her sisters. Thankfully my son has a tablet he can use to communicate with his cousins. We got a hold of my brother, who was able to call the police. My luck only seemed to worsen after that.
I had the feeling I was being watched anywhere I went, and had grown a terrible sense of paranoia. I has gotten to the point where I was afraid to leave the house, and had to work from home.
My wife had noticed my sudden paranoia, and suggested I go to a therapist, which I declined at first, but eventually agreed. I never should of gotten into the car. All I can remember is screaming, shouting, glass breaking, and fire. A car crash, but this time, I was in it. My wife was dead, and I couldn't do anything about it. As for me, not a scratch. My son was barely alive, but breathing. I was willing to pay doctors all I had to save him. They couldn't save him, even with all the money. I no longer left the house. I only stayed inside, and did nothing all day.
You're probably wondering," its the painting isn't it. The rose painting killed your family." But, that's not what happened. It actually protected me. My grandma had locked up the painting, for she didn't need any more protecting. She was ready to go, and when she put it away, she passed on calmly, like a swan upon a lake. As for me, I should be dead. I should have been dead since the first accident I witnessed, but the painting didn't cause the accidents. I wish I could thank my grandma for the rose painting, but now is the time to put it away. Who knows, maybe I'll die minutes after I put it away, or maybe ill die when I'm 60.
Cherish your loved ones, for you never know when something is going to happen
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