Quick Tales

In the quiet town of Meadowgrove, nestled between undulating hills and a whispering forest, stood the old Victorian house that belonged to the Wellings. The house, like its inhabitants, was showing signs of age—paint chipping, roof tiles missing, and ivy creeping up the walls. Inside, 62-year-old Martha Welling lay in her bed, her once vibrant eyes now dimmed by the knowledge that her time was running out.

Martha had been diagnosed with a terminal illness six months ago. The doctors gave her less than a year to live. She had spent those months trying to come to terms with her fate, but acceptance eluded her. Instead, she found herself filled with a profound sense of urgency—an insatiable desire to leave behind something that would outlast her.

Her family, however, was not on the same page. Her husband, Thomas, a stern man with a heart as warm as his coffee, wanted her to spend what little time she had left surrounded by loved ones. Their daughter, Emily, a successful artist living in the city, agreed. She visited often, her eyes always shiny with unshed tears, and begged her mother to let go of her plans and just rest.

Martha's plan was to paint a mural on the wall of her bedroom—something beautiful and lasting that would remind them all of her even after she was gone. She had been an artist once, before life and responsibilities got in the way. Now, with time running out, she wanted to reclaim that part of herself.

One day, as Thomas helped Martha into her wheelchair, she broached the subject again. "Thomas," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper, "I want to paint a mural."

Thomas looked at her, his expression a mix of sadness and exasperation. "Martha, you're not well enough for that."

"Please, Thomas," she pleaded. "It's important to me."

He sighed, running a hand through his thinning hair. "Alright, but only if the doctor says it's okay."

The next day, Dr. Harris visited Martha. After examining her, he gave her a small nod of approval. "As long as you don't overexert yourself," he said, his eyes filled with concern.

Martha beamed at him, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears. "Thank you, Doctor."

That evening, Thomas helped Martha set up her easel and canvas by the window. The sun was setting, casting a warm golden glow over everything. It was perfect.

Emily visited the next day, her face lighting up when she saw the canvas. "Mom, this is beautiful," she said, tracing the outline of the mural with her fingers.

"I want it to be something that will remind you both of me," Martha said, her voice filled with emotion. "Something that will make you smile even when I'm gone."

Emily nodded, tears in her eyes. "It will, Mom. It really will."

Over the next few weeks, Martha worked tirelessly on her mural. She painted a scene from their family vacations—the beach where they had built sandcastles, the mountain they had hiked, the forest they had explored. In each scene, she included small details that only her family would recognize—the seashell Emily had found, the rock Thomas had tripped over, the bird Martha had sketched in her notebook.

As the mural took shape, so did the tension between Martha and her family. They worried about her constantly, their eyes filled with fear every time she picked up a brush. Martha, on the other hand, was more alive than she had been in years. She found joy in creating something that would outlast her, something that would be a testament to her love for her family.

One day, as Martha was putting the final touches on her mural, Thomas walked into the room. He looked at the painting, his expression unreadable. Then, he turned to Martha, his eyes filled with tears. "It's beautiful, Martha," he said softly. "Just like you."

Martha smiled at him, her heart swelling with love. "Thank you, Thomas," she whispered.

That night, as Martha lay in bed looking at her mural, she felt a sense of peace wash over her. She had done what she set out to do—she had left behind something that would remind her family of her even after she was gone.

The next morning, Martha didn't wake up. Thomas found her lying peacefully in bed, a soft smile on her lips. He knew that she had been waiting for this moment, the moment when she could finally let go and join the world she had created on her canvas.

In the days that followed, Emily and Thomas spent hours looking at Martha's mural. They would point out small details they hadn't noticed before, laugh about old memories, and cry for the mother and wife they had lost. But through it all, there was a sense of peace—a knowledge that Martha was still with them, her love for them immortalized on the wall of their bedroom.

In the quiet town of Meadowgrove, the old Victorian house stood tall, its walls echoing with memories and laughter. And inside, on the wall of Martha's bedroom, her final canvas shone brightly, a testament to her love and a reminder that even when she was gone, she would always be there.